


Afternoon Weirdness I thru XVIII

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Hurting and want.





	Afternoon Weirdness I thru XVIII

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Afternoon Weirdness I: A Dress by Te

20 September 1998

Afternoon Weirdness I: A Dress  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: No names... but you can safely assume they aren't mine.  
Spoilers: Nope.  
Summary: Hurting and want.  
Ratings Note: Strong R, I'd say.  
Acknowledgments: Originally designed to distract Alicia at work.

* * *

Afternoon Weirdness I: A Dress  
by Te  


A dress.

He was wearing a dress... and it didn't work on him at all. The body was too angular, flat and hard. Sure, under the flesh was a lissome sway, a twist and wave of motion more suited for certain dances than-- 

Well, that's not true. Everything about him suited just fine. He was perfect when I had him, legs locked around my waist and howling. Begging. So beautiful, hair sweat-plastered to the finely shaped skull, lips parted, swollen by my kisses. By my cock. Yeah he was beautiful on his knees, too. It hurt sometimes, so much. I can tell you that because I think you understand... 

I gave him the usual spiel about expanding horizons, altered states of consciousness, etc. -- but when I first pulled out the straps, the floggers and plugs, it was only because I needed to hurt him. As much as he was hurting me. No one ought to look that wonderful in pain. Welted, trembling, begging me not to stop...

Do you have any idea how close I came to killing him? Every night we were together, I swear it. I don't think he ever knew. I hope he didn't. Because he was beautiful, and it was bitter, and it was my heart.

My heart doesn't belong in linen, draped in flowers. I said:

"Take off that dress."

He only smirked. 'Make me.'

So I took out my knife.

 

* * *

 

20 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness II: So Minimal  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: These boys don't belong to me, but I sure do like playing with them.  
Spoilers: Little bitty ones for most of the Krycek episodes and Fight the Future.  
Ratings Note: R? I think.   
Summary: Alex Krycek drops by for a chat.  
Warnings: Rather dark.  
Acknowledgments: Many thanks to the marvelous Alicia, Prime Beta, paragon of grace and beauty.  
Author's Note: Yeah, so I was dredging through my old mix tapes from high school and before. This is inspired by the song "Gonna Get Close To You" by Queensryche. Anyone else remember Queensryche?

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness II: So Minimal  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~

Watching you, watching you... Mulder, do you have any idea how much of your life is on video? Miles and miles of tape. Maybe you do know.... Would that be why you always put on such a show?

Or maybe I'm just easily amused. 

It wasn't difficult to get back into the game, you know. I made a few mistakes, got my ass caught... but there's always gonna to be *someone* who wants your ass, Mulder. For something. So I got myself a patron, cultured and elegant enough to make the occasional grope forgivable and.... Well, he was very clean. You can't always count on that. Easy to wind myself back in, the errand boy too dangerous to be ignored, too potentially valuable to be killed. 

My patron knew the truth behind that "potential," but I think he was fond of me, in his way. I made sure he knew how to find you. I made sure his death was both painless and spectacular. I know he'd appreciate the irony of such an eminently *noticeable* end. 

Did you?

Stop looking at me like that, you're hurting my feelings. I do have feelings, you know. And so do you. Eventually I'm going to take off the gag and you can tell me all about them.

But I want to keep talking at you for a while, I do. They kept me away from any direct contact with you. They knew bad things tended to happen when we got together.... Such a close call in Russia. You really had no clue, did you? Just a few more days and I would've been able to put it all in your greedy little hands.

Hands. You have nice ones, you know that? I've always liked hands. Manipulation, of course. I know the jargon as well as you do. Better on some things, I think. Do you know how many people get into psychology solely to figure out what's wrong with them? 

Of course you do. I could get used to that eye roll. You learned that from Scully, didn't you?

Stop that, really. I know you've had time to think about that. I'm not going to sit here and make apologies I don't mean, or excuses that would only make both of us lose respect for me. What, you don't respect me?

What if I just kissed you again?

Stop flinching.

Mulder, I remember things about your hands. So spidery and jittery... they felt good on my skin. On my cock. Did you like the way it felt? God, I remember how hard I was.... felt like my heart was beating in my cock. You wouldn't let me return the favor. I have no idea what excuse you made but it was terribly disappointing. I wanted you to spin me around and fuck me through the nearest wall. 

I could touch you right now.

You wouldn't be able to stop me... you could even call it rape. Would you like that? Is it obscene to ask? 

I can't tell what that look means. Are you *trying* to make me take off the gag, Mulder? That's not at all fair. I watched you for so long... taking care of business in the *daylight* hours so I could devote my nights to you. When did you stop caring about the surveillance? And where did you get that dildo from, hunh? Who were you thinking about when you stripped from the waist down and fucked yourself? 

Not even a blush. You've decided you know my game, then. It can't shock you so long as it's sexual. Don't give the perp anything to play with, right? 

Thank you, Mulder. I needed that. Just a little narrowing, a bit of crinkle around your eyes -- and we're all getting older, aren't we? -- but it's enough. Don't worry. I have my own toys.

Like this.

A bit ostentatious, I know. Switchblade would serve the same purpose, but there's a certain romance to a straight razor, don't you think? Let me get a little closer... you don't mind, do you? I want you to see this. Those sodium things outside your place are nothing compared to moonlight, but still... I think you can appreciate the glitter. 

You're angry now. Should I take off the gag? Should I cut it off? What if I ran the edge down your chest just. like. this--

Whoops.

Sorry, Mulder, I didn't mean to cut you. Yet. But you were breathing so hard.... Just a little blood on the blade.... You taste good. Want some? 

Of *course* you don't.

Yeah, this turns me on. Maybe you can tell me later exactly what it means. That degree should count for something.

Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you?

Oh, I could get used to the look on your face. Do you know what you look like? You want to hit me. You're thinking about all those times you had me at gunpoint, or even shiv-point, and fucked up. That's what you're thinking, I know it. Can you see yourself killing me, now? I can see your mind working, Fox. Such beautiful eyes...

I'm going to cut your shirt open. Leave the halves resting on your shoulders... No, maybe a little further down so I can see your arms twisting in their sockets. I've gained an appreciation for shoulders in the past year or so. 

I'm going to touch you with the razor... I really don't trust my hand on your body. I'll be careful, see? 

You're breathing harder. You know what I think? I think you want this just as bad as I do. Or think you do. Tell me this: You really don't want to have killed me when you first found out about my little betrayal, do you? 

How about a little dry shave? You want me to open your pants, too? I will.... just nod. I suppose that lovely little thrust will have to do for an answer. 

God, your cock even prettier than dreamed about. I'm sorry, Mulder, we're going to have to abandon the game for just a moment while I...

Mmm... yeah. You taste as good as I dreamed, too. I don't mind telling you how bad I wanted you. How bad I want you now... It *is* why I'm here. Just one more taste...

Make that sound again?

No matter. I'll remember it.

But I was saying.... What *was* I saying? You made me forget. Bad you.

Shh. Shh.... It was just a little cut. Look, you're hardly bleeding at all. Let it give you a little focus, hmm? It certainly improves *my* concentration. I was saying that I know exactly when you wish you'd killed me. 

Oh, I was wrong. I like *this* look a lot better. Look at yourself. You're even harder than you were before... but even if I didn't have your personal divining rod to show me the truth I could see it in your eyes. It shows, Mulder. Really. 

If I had another hand I could just yank your head back when I wanted you to look at me again. As it is... 

No one ever said you weren't a bright boy. 

Now, when you wish you'd killed me: Hong Kong. Right when I asked you to. Public. Messy. Cold-blooded. No way you would've gotten off. Bad enough you even *had* a gun in that country --and you know full well that *my* prints weren't on it -- but cold-blooded murder? It would've been over. All of it. You would've gotten the death penalty, but they're a lot less punctilious about keeping the criminals alive until their execution date over there.... And you knew that, too.

Over. For both of us. 

You should've done it, you son of a bitch. 

...

There. Gag's off. Your mouth's a little swollen... but it looks good on you. Talk to me, Mulder. Was I right?

Another silent look? Do you just like the sound of my voice that much? 

...

All right. I know that look, too. 

Anything you want. 

~~~~~  
End.  
~~~~~

 

* * *

 

20 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness III: Shadowsweat  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: They do not belong to me, I mean no harm.  
Spoilers: Doubtful  
Summary: Mulder does some thinking.  
Ratings Note: Strong R, I'd say.  
Author's Note: Yet another attempt to distract Alicia at work...  
Acknowledgments: To my darlingest Alicia, for yet another stunning beta job. All remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

******************  
Afternoon Weirdness III: Shadowsweat  
by Te  
  
******************

Long, long legs.

You're not supposed to notice a man's legs, I know, but his were rather impossible to ignore. Even back then. Scissoring neatly at my side and just behind, the occasional bend and flex revealing a tantalizing hint of muscle beneath the horror of a suit. 

They made me want to kneel down and peel those wool-blend monstrosities off. Made me...

No, you're right, there's no real point in being coy. 

Coy. That's how I thought of him. All husky purr and big green eyes. All too obvious in his schoolboy adoration, right down to the right phrases. The crowning touch was the occasional sharp little gleam. An invitation to share the joke, to take him aside and meet the "real" Alex. Yeah, I fell for it. Hard, too. I had any number of fantasies about it.... I could always count on my brain to provide just the right film reel for the impossible or simply wrong.

My favorite, now.... That had to be the office one. One day I'd lean back in that awful bullpen chair and he'd say, all solicitude,

"Is there anything wrong, Mulder?" Maybe even "Agent Mulder," if he was trying especially hard to be correct and good, or give the appearance of same.

And I would say, "No, Alex, not really...." and wait for the gleam of pleasure -- it would be real, I was sure of it -- at my use of his first name, and then, "I was just thinking,"

Quizzical face. Cute puppy face. 

"I want to show you something."

"Sure, Mulder."

And I'd take him down *there*. To the office. And I'd show him everything, and I'd let the hope -- it would be real, I won't lie to myself -- that he'd appreciate it show. He'd say:

"This really means a lot, Mulder. That you... you could trust me with this." Purring even more than usual. Laying it on thick. 

"How much does it mean to you?" A hint -- just a hint, mind you -- of what I wanted. But he was trained to listen for it, I knew that, too. He'd look at me, then. I knew how badly he wanted me, you see, even under the lies. That is, I thought I did. It took a while for me to get the control to slow it down at this point.

"What do you mean?" He'd let his eyes roam, then. Maybe throw a glance at the door I'd closed and locked. It's a fantasy, I'm allowed to break a few policies. 

"How far are you willing to go for this game, Krycek?"

"Wha--?"

"Suck me."

He'd reel back a bit, and the anger would peek through as he tried to figure out the best way to handle this little turn of events. Delicious. Then the game face would be back, nervous lick at his lips.

"Mulder?"

I wouldn't say a word then. Just undo my pants, whip myself out. Moment of truth. If he wasn't a plant he'd have to at least *pretend* to be outraged. Walk out. If he was a spy, even if getting in my pants wasn't the agenda, he'd have to do whatever I said. Gain my trust. Flaws in the reasoning, to be sure, but they're not the sort you worry about with your cock in your hand, heavy and slick.

He'd kneel, of course. I'd lose myself in that sharp tongue at the slit, soft lips taking me deeper and deeper...

"Look at me."

Those lashes would flutter. Hard to keep your game face on with a cock in your mouth, but he'd do it. Confusion. Lust. Hurt... Maybe his lip would be split from the thrusts. I'd put my hand in the damp hair, caress in a way that could, possibly, be construed as apology. His hand, the one that wasn't pumping me nice and slow, would slip down to his own pants.

"Don't you fucking touch yourself, Krycek. You're mine, got that?" Sometimes I could even fool myself that my voice would be steady and convincing at that point. In any case, I'd get another flash of anger. That "Just wait" look. But I'd rub the back of his neck a little. Make a few encouraging sounds. Just as his eyes closed again I'd yank him off. None too gently.

He'd be a little off-balance. Definitely confused. I'd let him watch me stroke myself for a little while before moving closer. Run my cock over his cheek. Dirty that pretty face. This is exactly what you deserve, you son of a bitch. I think I could've kept myself from saying that out loud. His eyes would get a little dazed, then. He wants to be used. He knows he deserves it. He'd run his tongue out to catch at me. I'd backhand him.

It took weeks before I could hold my load beyond that point. Point, point.... I'm sure I had one. It doesn't matter, now. Of course he was a spy. Who knows, maybe if I'd ever actually followed through instead of just jerking him off in some anonymous rest stop men's room it would've gone down exactly that way. Or maybe he would've looked at me, bold and shameless. 

Walked up to me and asked what I really wanted. 

I bet I would've told him... and then I would've *had* to kill him, one of those times. And it would've been over. And I wouldn't be sitting here, waiting for him to either suck my dick or slit my throat. Wondering if, at this point, it really matters which.

~~~~~~  
End.  
~~~~~~

 

* * *

 

Afternoon Weirdness IV: Makeup  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: No, they don't belong to me. All hail CC. For now.   
Spoilers: Ha!  
Summary: Oddities...  
Ratings Note: Ummm... No clue.  
Author's Note: A request from Rhymephile, another from Holmes, an inspirational note from torch... Starts off weird, only gets worse. I thought it just might be appropriate for the Strange And Wonderful Woodinat Creature, whose birthday approacheth.  
Acknowledgments: Many thanks to MJ for her brave efforts at beta-reading this. 

* * *

******************  
Afternoon Weirdness IV: Makeup  
by Te  
  
******************

In a message dated 8/23/98 4:19:30 AM, I and then torch wrote:

<<<swoons> Tell me about the shoes?

Mmm, I seem to detect a shoe fetish here. Reminds me in a roundabout way of that bit in IaDT:S where Mulder wants to lie down in the alley and have Alex rub a foot over his crotch.>>

<giggling> A *frustrated* shoe fetish. I have to go to the drag queen shops to find kicky shoes that fit my 6ft tall black woman footies, and even then I'm terribly clumsy in them. I want to put Mulder in a dress again and again, and have Alex paint his nails (toes and fingers), and give him some mascara, and then, and only then, a dark, subtle shade of lipstick.

By this point he's pinned Mulder to the couch because it's the only way to keep the man still. Sort of straddling him at the waist, awkwardly. Mulder's doing his best to support Alex's spine with his knees. And Alex leans over, he leans over and runs the tip of the lipstick over the lower lip first

(he really can't resist)

And Mulder thinks about the sensation, closing his eyes almost all the way, and the closest he can come is "velvet glue" and he really wishes Alex would scoot a little further down, or perhaps up, but all he's doing is

dabbing and brushing. He's not doing this right at all. It's been far too long, and it's far too entertaining to paint the lush lips. 

(Somewhere, in the back of Alex's mind, is the song "Lush Life," but he can never quite remember how it goes and the closest he can come to it is "dance with me, for tomorrow we die")

Oh, this could go on for hours. When Mulder starts getting fidgety, Alex swats at the finely turned wrists, smudging the older man a bit.

"Stop that, your nails aren't dry."

A pause, while they glare at each other just long enough to forget why they're angry. They can do that now, in this place, at this time, because there's nothing else *to* do. It's possible they'll get bored someday, but for now? All is well. Alex goes back to the now quite unnecessary daubing.

"I think my lips are done, Alex..."

You see, those lips are the *only* thing in Alex's focus at that moment. Watching them move, seeing the glisten of warm lamplight on the make-up, watching them shape his name....

He dives in for a kiss and it tastes exactly like the reason why he stopped doing this, but the slide of the stuff along his own mouth and cheek feels too, too good.

Alex pulls away again and his fine work has been ruined. Mulder looks like a cheap, drunken whore after the frat gangbang.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

******  
End.   
******

Note: Afternoon Weirdness is less a series than things written down in the afternoon. When I get weird. 

 

* * *

 

20 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness V: Soft Decline  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: Not mine, though I'm thinking there should be something like frequent flier miles.  
Spoilers: Very, very vague and easy to miss references to the movie.  
Summary: Mulder's needs a little time to decompress.   
Ratings Note: Weak R.  
Author's Note: I love you, Sister Blue. Oh, and, this has absolute nothing to do with the prior four stories. At all.  
Acknowledgments: With thanks to Dawn Sharon for being a wonderful, patient ear for a wee bit of insanity as well as for being an audience. Also to the shadowy Viridian, for marvelous beta and Tespeak translation in the face of SnappishAndManipulative!Te.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness V: Soft Decline  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder took off his jacket, and his shirt, and his t-shirt, and sat at the computer. Swiped a finger across the monitor with a mild moue of distaste. He had no clue when he'd last dusted the thing. He lay his head on the soft gel wrist rest and waited, patiently, to care.

He had rearranged the apartment for the summer, moving the computer directly across from the air conditioner. He'd had a twinge of worry -- after all, the new arrangement left him vulnerable to sniper fire -- but Washington gets *hot* in those summer months. Not that healing bone warmth, either. This was the kind of heat that stripped you of your clothes and rubbed you down with burning ooze, then *plastered* them back on in some fabric-ian parody of papier mache. 

So the desk had been moved. After a time, the deliberate slowing of his body allowed him to feel the first prickle of cool air along his nape. Mulder was abruptly appreciative of the new, shorter haircut, despite the neatly aimed eyebrow from Scully and the muttered "hedgehog" comments from...

Well, from Alex. Times like these, the day barely over, the night promising to be just as lonely and pointless as the vast majority of his life.... He simply didn't have the energy to work himself up about *that* new arrangement. 

He nuzzled himself into the spongy length of grey. If he was to be honest with himself, a lot of things were burned away quite effectively by that first, knowing touch on his cock. The voice in his ear. Alex had said:

"Can we, just this once, pretend this is all that matters?"

When he'd bucked into Alex's hand, when he'd leaned back and back into that solidity of leather and need, he'd given all the answer necessary.

And Alex's smile against his cheek was just fine, too, because Mulder knew he never made enough people smile. 

Sometimes, lying just like this, the computer era's answer to Dead Man's Float, he could feel the whisper of those soft, peach lips right where the false breeze was tickling him.

And imagine the clever hand on his body, the sudden, shocking strength of another man to hold there, right there. And the mouth would bite down hard, once, before mapping his spine. The mouth was too small for the secrets it knew, the treasures it whispered. 

Mulder's fingertips brushed the dusty carpet; he was apelike, stupid with early evening indolence and cock-heavy despair. 

Alex hadn't stayed long enough... but when Mulder had awoke there was a crisp, manila folder of dirty secrets and a crumpled leather glove on the mattress.

He had, at some point, begged the younger man to put it back on. Alex had given him a good, solid week to wonder if it was mock or sentiment before slipping into bed with him one Thursday night, slipping in and slipping down, and slipping his mouth right down on Mulder's cock.

A promise to return, then.

Mulder came to himself with the realization that he'd been nuzzling the wrist rest like an animal in heat. This wouldn't do. He would, at the very least, decide if he was going to be too depressed to beat off.

The urgency was building, just a bit.

He mused on the nature of vulnerability, how any reasonably well-adjusted adult male might decide to willingly place himself in the line of fire for the opportunity of comfort.

Might lay it all on the line to bind his partner with guilt and need, to have her with him, always. 

Might spread himself on the coverlet, and kneel up, and offer. No, that's wrong. Spread himself and *beg* for...

For what? 

It would be disingenuous to say forgetfulness... He'd never forgotten, and forgiveness wouldn't be half so thrilling. And there'd be no thrill without fear, so the presumed safety of another man's arms would be a lie as well. 

Perhaps, the beauty of vulnerability was the ease of it, the way in which one, after making the choice to do so, could give it all to another person. If only for a few hours. 

To be allowed the illusion of a clean attic, a heart free of baggage and care for just another hour of salt-slick hunger and suffering.

Given time, he was nearly positive he could relate that to the air conditioner. Somehow.

******  
End.   
******

 

* * *

 

20 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness VI: If You Knew My Infinite Charms...  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: Not mine. *So* not mine.  
Spoilers: Itty bitty one for FTF.  
Summary: Alex takes care of some business.  
Ratings Note: R for violence.  
Author's Note: Alicia left me alone again to go to work. This could (and probably should) be read as a companion piece to "Soft Decline". Yet another "Gonna Get Close To You" story, and I'm also going to blame Viridian's assorted random violence stories for corrupting me. Because I can. <g>  
Acknowledgments: To the mysterious Viridian, for fine, fine beta. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness VI: If You Knew My Infinite Charms...  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex leaned back against the wall, careful of the vague sponginess, the sense of instability under the stained beige paint. He had a brief, disturbing moment in which he wished he still had someone to chauffeur for. But there were other

//always more//

jobs to do. Necessities. And this one involved pressing back and back into decay and trying to ignore the raging hard-on he was currently sporting. The last bullet had come much too close, the air was rank with American rot, and there was something positively nasty on the sole of his right boot. This whole assignment had the makings of a world class fuck-up, and, as always, that made him horny. 

He'd never quite figured out the connection between the two, but it had been a standard physical reaction since puberty. Have a paper due in 6 hours? Beat off. Drag your life just *that* much closer to utter ruin? Beat off. Get a gun shoved in your face? Well, there's rarely a good opportunity to beat off when that happens. Hence, the raging hard on. 

More gunshots, and the bit of vinyl nailed to the window now had all the light-blocking abilities of moldering Swiss cheese. Alex was grateful for the past few weeks he'd spent living from hand to mouth while tracking this target. He was, apparently, just about lean enough to fade, literally, into the woodwork. Though he'd have to patch his jacket again. 

Not that the ostentatious hardship had been *strictly* necessary. The little mad scientist (with the blessedly poor aim) he'd been hunting could've been found by any one of the underlings he'd appeared to have inherited with his former patron's demise.... However, every once in a while, Alex got the distinct impression there was something that needed to be Done. He was fully aware that it was paranoia on his part, but such petty insanities were a part of the life he'd chosen for himself. And the rat-like existence had its diversions, if not precisely pleasures. 

And, besides, pumping a clip full of hollow points into another man's skull tended to be both therapeutic *and* practical.

//Waste no part of the animal.//

Click-click from just around the corner and Alex felt his lips pull back from his teeth. Felt the sporadic beams of bullet-freed sunlight spotlight his back with pinpoint warmth. Almost... *almost*... felt the assignment's heart plummet straight down to his intestines with that impression of "Oh, fuck, no," that freezes a man in place.

Alex stroked himself once, twice, again, through the denim. Wasting time. Giving the target time he shouldn't. But, oh yeah, it felt good. A voice at the back of his mind said:

This is stupid, wrong, and dangerous.

Alex bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, nodded to himself, gave his cock one last, vicious squeeze, and turned the corner just in time to see the rabbity little freak gearing himself up to escape.

"Too damn slow, Marks."

"Please..."

"Too damn late."

One shot, two shot, and this was so messy even the apathetic and cowed residents of this nasty little place *had* to be taking notice by now.

Marks was pulped. Alex was... spattered. He checked his watch. Eight p.m.

He wondered what Mulder was up to.

~~~~  
End  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

21 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness VII: Six or Seven Steps Behind You  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: Would Chris Carter treat them so well? I think not.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Summary: Alex drops by for a visit.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for language and M/K relations.  
Author's Note: Come home, Alicia! Come home! Umm.... This could (and probably should) be considered a sequel to "Soft Decline" and "If You Knew My Infinite Charms."  
Acknowledgments: To my Sister Blue... because she reminds me of the important things even *without* heavy weaponry. Also, to the beauteous Alicia, for Beta Brutality. All remaining mistakes are my own.  
Feedback: PLEASE.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness VII: Six or Seven Steps Behind You  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder returned to consciousness at the sound of a safety snicking off rather too close to his left ear. He sucked in a breath and was pleasantly assaulted by the scent of his own hand lotion from the wrist-rest... and leather and machine oil.

Alex, then. Other men fell asleep or cuddled after sex. Alex cleaned his gun. Most of the time, it was cute. 

"Was it something I said?"

"I could've killed you where you sat. Sprawled. Whatever the hell you're doing."

"You could've killed me in bed, too...."

"Yes, but you wouldn't be torturing your spine."

Mulder blinked once, slowly. Marveled, again, at how amazingly comfortable the wrist-rest was. Took it in.

"You're holding a gun to my head because my sleeping habits are poor."

"It saddens me when you don't take care of yourself."

Mulder chuckled, a little more raspily than he expected. Apparently, he'd been asleep for quite some time. It was less than a comforting thought, but still...

"I'm touched, Alex."

//Dammit--//

"Don't say it--"

Alex snorted from behind him and Mulder could feel the slight shift in the air that indicated the omnipresent weapon being re-holstered. Mulder smiled to himself, removed his own throwaway from its ankle holster, and spun. Bleary-eyed, dizzy, and still half-asleep, Mulder managed to have the gun aimed more or less accurately at the fine column of Alex's throat. He wondered if he should start taking massive doses of Benadryl before going out on cases.

Alex was... beaming at him. He looked downright misty-eyed, not to put too fine a point on it. 

"*What*, Alex?"

"That has to be the sneakiest thing you've ever pulled, Mulder..."

"Well, yes, but--"

He was cut off by a move that left his gun arm twisted painfully behind his back, and a kiss that claimed his mouth with the brutality of affection. After a time, Alex adjusted their relative positions to improve his access to Mulder's mouth, loosening his grip on the arm to not-quite pain. His tongue was a muscular assault. 

Mulder was allowed back to himself, back to a field of vision made up entirely of an Alex flushed with a disturbingly arousing mixture of lust and childlike glee. A twelve-year-old with his very first hard-on.

//Don't go there.//

Another several moments to stare into eyes gradually becoming blackly unreadable by the encroaching darkness,

//But I'll know...//

and Mulder darted forward just far enough to swipe his tongue along the younger man's mouth. Whispered in the meaningless space between kiss and kissed:

"Can I have my arm back?"

And there was a thumb rubbing circles into his wrist and soft lips brushing and pressing and a nagging indecision at the back of his mind: Should he pull Alex to the floor? Should he stand into his embrace?

It became moot when the just-a-little-too-muscular arm released his own and pulled him up and close, pulled him in to lean muscle and demanding heat and the only thing he could really do, at that point, was swivel shamelessly into the offered lust. 

A groan against his throat and Mulder slid his arms around the younger man's back, traced vertebrae too close to the surface...

//If he stays for breakfast, I'm going to hold a gun to his temple through an entire plate of waffles. And then I'm going to blow him.

//If he doesn't stay for breakfast, I will hunt him down with a bag full of White Castle burgers, pistol whip him, watch him eat, and then blow him.//

... and did his best to get closer still. 

"Alex..."

Tickling growl at his collarbone and Mulder blessed the impulse that had made him strip to the waist before settling at the computer.

"What's on the agenda for tonight, Mulder?"

"Same thing we don't do nearly enough nights, Alex."

And then he was being spun around and away and he was supporting himself on shaking arms. A fumble, if a fast one, at his waist and his suit pants were puddled around his ankles. Alex cupped him once, possessively, through the much-too-tight boxer briefs, before ripping them off as efficiently as possible.

Bare and ready, and cool, canned air brushed him to gooseflesh and want. No warning save for a muffled thump behind him and Alex was gripping his ass hard enough to bruise and 

oh jesus that couldn't possibly be easy with one hand so Mulder decided to help and he was bound to be on his own knees soon enough with that whip, that welcome punishment of tongue that made his knees tremble and his hips buck and his mind reel through a thousand possible ways to make Alex feel this absurdly powerless...

And then he stopped. 

//Definitely pistol-whip him.//

But there was really no time to protest as that tongue seemed to press hard enough into his spine to bruise as Alex made his way up and up... relentless. Mulder found himself arching into the --somehow, even more decadent than usual -- touch. 

"I'm going to fuck you, right here, right now."

"I love it when you're concise."

An acknowledgment of his coherency in a vicious bite just behind his ear and then Mulder was bucking away, reflexively, from the cool of the slick.

"Sorry, next time I'll keep it in my jeans..."

And Mulder was quite sure that Alex was still talking but the sound had smoothed and faded to a breathy husk against his ear and ratcheting pleasure from clever fingers. No real point to this, he'd been ready from the second he'd awakened to find Alex gone the last time but it felt good and the sounds he was making were good and, in these moments, he *was* good. 

"... cat in heat... Jesus, Mulder... spread yourself for me..."

He thanked his brain for letting certain important Alex comments seep through the haze, stood just long enough to feel the younger man fit himself there, right there before bracing himself for the thrust and Alex was sliding that slick hand around him and up his torso to grab a shoulder and pull

down and back and pinioned, skewered with a lover's need and there was no better way to be on a lonely Tuesday night just this side of pointless ripped, thankfully, into the realm of obsession and something a great deal like--

"I love you, Alex--"

"Don't... say that..."

And Mulder laughed then,

"Too late."

a sensation sending rolling waves of precious humor straight down to his cock and yeah he might as well let his hand follow them and pull and pull and when Alex bit off whatever declarations he might have made into Mulder's shoulder.... 

Well, that was only to be expected.

~~~~~~  
End.  
~~~~~~

 

* * *

 

21 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness VIII: Oh So Serious  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: They followed me home. I swear.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Summary: Alex didn't stay for breakfast.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for m/m interaction, S for Schmoop. I think.  
Author's Note: This could probably be read alone, but it is meant to be a follow up to AWs 5-7. ("Soft Decline," "If You Knew My Infinite Charms...," "Six or Seven Steps Behind You.") Inspired by some of Dawn Sharon's commentary after reading AW 7.  
Acknowledgments: To my Sister Blue, because because because because be-CAUSE... *koff*... Sorry. And to Alicia, for her under-appreciated efforts to whip my stories into some sort of shape. Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.   
Feedback: PLEASE.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness VIII: Oh So Serious  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through the fringe of his lashes, Mulder watched Alex getting dressed. The shades were drawn, but Mulder could tell it wasn't *nearly* day yet. Alex wasn't staying for breakfast.

The older man knew full well that Alex knew he wasn't sleeping, and that Alex knew he knew, but this little game had its own brand of sentiment. One enjoys the illusion of a lover at rest, the other enjoys the often gratuitously slow pull and stretch of a process that had no right to the grace it stole. Both had the luxury of avoiding good-byes that had every opportunity to gain the unwelcome resonance of finality.

However, Alex wasn't staying for breakfast. 

Mulder remained still, drank in the beautiful, mutilated form as Alex got in one last stretch before walking out of the bedroom. Soft thump of boot heels on carpet and Mulder wondered, for a moment, why Alex's exits were always so much more noticeable than his entrances. And then he could hear the apartment door closing with that vaguely satisfactory thunk it had, and he was peeling himself out of bed. 

Sweats and a t-shirt, laid carefully aside before joining Alex in the shower the night before, were thrown on. 

Fingers were run, futilely, through hair made even spikier by sleep and humidity. 

Mulder made it to the kitchen window just in time to see his lover stalking down the street. The cold, sober light of morning only served to make Alex stand out in stark relief against the rest of this dingy little corner of the world. 

//Too early for that outfit, Alex...//

An obvious night creature on his way home from...

What?

A moment to wonder just how Alex thought of him when he wasn't in the younger man's direct view, and then Alex was turning, smoothly and with conscious ease,

//Do you know I'm watching you?

//Do you just assume someone always is?//

into some random back alley. Sputter of what sounded to be a pathetically weak engine and he was driving east in a...

In a lime green VW bug. 

Mulder blinked once, and again, muttered to himself about "certain sacrifices" and "camouflage," snatched up shoes and car keys, before heading out to follow. It was barely after five.... It was entirely possible he'd still be able to make it to work on time. 

******

Merry chase through the back streets of cluttered Virginia suburbia, thoroughly un-merry chase over the horror of the Beltway. Mulder was quite sure that no one outside the nation's capital could be so insane as to have a thing like bumper-to-bumper traffic at speeds approaching 80 mph. He had heard things about L.A., though. 

But after a time, Mulder had to admit he approved of Alex's choice of vehicle. Although his own government-issued Taurus faded into anonymity relatively quickly given the surroundings, the human eye literally skittered *past* the Beetle. Too ugly. Too small. Too *wrong* for this day, this age. The color alone made the mind erect any number of walls in an attempt to make the viewer forget he'd ever seen such a thing. 

It was the Anti-Car. 

But Mulder was determined. Positively dogged in his pursuit of his lover. The man needed to *eat*.

//I need to sleep more.//

******

Six-fifteen in the morning and Mulder had spent the last ten minutes watching Alex recline oh-so-casually as *he* watched what appeared to be the world's most incongruously placed upscale yuppie deli. The heart of Southeast was no place for bean sprouts and overpriced goose liver. 

He let his mind drift into a fantasy of iced cappuccino and Alex's naked skin. Maybe some pleasantly astringent vinegar, instead. Tart, juicy olive balanced in the softly crinkled navel. Sharp cheese sliced with any one of the knives probably on Alex's person at this very moment, placed gently on the ripe bow of the mouth and...

Alex was flowing from the car, following an older man clad in an expensively tailored suit into yet another alley. Mulder remained still as long as he possibly could, steadfastly *not* thinking about random murder, or, perhaps, Alex on his knees, dirtying his jeans in yuppiemuck, his mouth on another man...

Steadfastly *not* trying to decide which upset him more.

//He didn't say it back...

//He asked you not to say it...//

And Mulder was in motion, gun out and tucked behind a fold of the sweats, moving just in time to see the older man walking away, and Alex tucking yet another manila folder into his jacket. 

Alex didn't even flinch when Mulder tucked the barrel of the gun into the soft pocket of his nape. 

"What *is* it, Mulder?"

Abruptly, Mulder realized he hadn't a clue what to say. 

"You didn't stay for breakfast."

//Well, at least I kept it simple...//

"I didn't stay--" Alex cut himself off with a tooth-click of incredulity and turned, slowly, to face him. "Breakfast."

Mulder nodded once and smiled at the look on the younger man's face, not letting his gun arm waver this time.

"You're holding me at gunpoint..."

Another nod.

"... because I didn't stay for breakfast."

It wasn't a question, so Mulder didn't treat it as such, merely ran the gun up from under the vaguely childish chin, over stubbled cheek to caress the ear. Alex turned slightly, helpfully. 

"You really ought to eat more, Alex."

"So you're taking me out to eat."

"Yes."

"At gunpoint."

"Yes. And then..."

Alex quirked an eyebrow, moved a little closer. Mulder gave up on the game and let Alex catch his gun arm with his shoulder. Kissing distance and heat from spiky morning hair down to the knees that brushed and argued about spreading. "And then what, Mulder?" In the voice that could make him throb at twenty paces, that, at this distance, obliterated both intellect and shame...

"And then we're going back to *my* car." A chuckle rumbled off the tongue at his ear. "And I'm going to open your jeans..."

Mulder let his hands roam, triggered as they were by Alex's sharp little gasp, the slow, instinctive roll of hips against his own. 

"And then what, Mulder?"

"And then I'm going to taste you..."

Fingers scrabbled at Mulder's nape, finally pinching the skin a bit to get him to tilt his head up. Hungry mouth working at his throat and Mulder looked up and up past bricks and fire escapes into a bluing sky and let himself be driven back against the nearest wall. Several, rough, thorough laps and Alex pulled away from the waist up.

"And then what?"

"And then I'm going to tease and kiss and lick and nibble you until you grab me by the nape -- just like now -- and fuck my face, Alex."

The voice was one step above a growl, the words incomprehensible, and Mulder could feel the impulses in the hand obsessively rubbing and pinching his neck. At least one of those impulses had to involve spinning Mulder around and doing his best to fuck him through this handy wall and jesus but the thought made him weak in the knees and liquid in the spine and, perhaps, one vicious squeeze away from coming in his pants but...

"But only after you've had breakfast with me."

Mulder had a moment to bask in the fierce pride that he'd gotten the words out, had made the nuzzling, worrying mouth quit working his throat for a frozen moment, but then Alex bucked hard against him, *ground* him into the wall and it hurt but any joggers going by right now would get one hell of a show...

"What if I don't want to wait?"

The words were menacing, the tone ragged with need. No way to separate the two, decide which was more responsible for his sudden decision that his spine wasn't liquid, at all.... Rather, it was a fuse and it was burning, sizzling, or maybe that sound was the chafe of the old t-shirt against mortar as his body refused to stop moving against Alex's. But when Alex dove in for a kiss Mulder managed, barely, to turn aside.

A sound against his cheek that had something of rage, something of laughter, and a large portion of lust.

"You're a lunatic." Ground against his chin. Another bite and Mulder would, perhaps, have to call in sick today. "I have a muffin in my car. If I eat the muffin, will you please blow me? Or let me blow you. Or both. We can definitely do both."

"What kind of muffin?"

"Mulder..."

"All right, all right, do you promise to eat the muffin? The *whole* muffin?"

Alex gripped Mulder's chin, turned him roughly and kissed him hard. Too many promises in the whipping, needful tongue to count. When Alex pulled away this time he was frowning, just a little, and dipped his head to hide it. Mulder wanted to smooth the tiny line on the pale brow, tell him he understood.... but settled for drawing the younger man a little closer. 

"Let's go."

Alex had taken the moment to recover and gave Mulder his best "I'm about to fuck with you mercilessly" look, but the older man wasn't buying it.

"We're taking my car."

"But--"

"We're *praying* your car gets stolen, burnt, and scattered to the winds."

"But what about the muffin?"

Mulder thought a moment. "I've got..."

"Yes?"

"I've got Tic Tacs in the glove compartment."

That was definitely a snicker, but Mulder couldn't bring himself to care. He had Alex by the hand and was dragging him, with very little difficulty, to the Taurus. From the corner of his eye Mulder could see the younger man scanning the street for... for whatever, and that, too, was just fine. Threw him in the passenger seat and drove off with shaky hands and the world's tightest sweatpants. 

*****

This was stupid, and dangerous, and several degrees of wrong but when Alex had looked at him, just *looked* at him at that last stoplight....

Mulder had decided the parking lot of this Friday's would simply have to do. When his seatbelt had refused to come off, Alex had produced a knife from... somewhere... and cut him free, guiding his head none too patiently to where he needed it most. 

Salt-bitter and blunt. Harsh cries and the simple faith he was losing hair. A constrained buck that was nowhere close to what he'd asked for... 

//much too fast//

...but perfect, just the same. This need.... This need was criminal in its own right but when Alex called his name like he was whipping his head back and forth in an agony of pleasure it occurred to Mulder that sin was nothing if not a good man's brother.

No time to taste, just take it all, believing with a nearly terrifying ferocity that yes, there'd be another chance. And then Mulder was burrowing under the t-shirt that reeked pleasantly of the both of them to get at the navel for just one lap, get that one last jerk and he was being tugged up for a long, slow kiss that only made the fuse of his spine send sparks of pain through his body. Mulder damned the awkwardness, wished, dimly, for one of the shameless gas-guzzling boats of his childhood, while he crawled into Alex's lap and started to stroke himself along the lean,

//We *will* get breakfast.//

muscular form.

Alex let his kisses travel back down to the older man's throat and slipped a welcome hand into the sweats. Alex never kissed him at these times, just let Mulder settle against his ear and left massive, bruising marks along his neck and shoulders with each knowing, powerful stroke. There was no mystery to this, and Mulder gave in to the request gladly, whispering and sobbing into the pixie-pointed ear, begging and promising while Alex brought him off at his own relentless pace.

******

Alternately sticky, swollen, and bruised, they panted quietly in each other's arms before Mulder rolled himself back into the driver's seat.

"You're in no condition to drive."

"You are?"

A pause while Alex appeared to give it some serious thought. 

"Definitely not."

Mulder nodded, made a weak grab for the car keys, gave up.

"It's because you don't eat enough, you know."

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

21 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness IX: Of Course  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: No names, not mine.  
Spoilers: Small (hopeful) ones for Tunguska.  
Summary: A little self-awareness is a good thing.  
Ratings Note: Strong R  
Author's Note: Alicia needs to come the fuck home. Sister Blue needs to stop encouraging this behavior so enthusiastically. I need to sleep more. Inspired by the song "Of Course" by Jane's Addiction. All hail old mix tapes! Oh, and this has absolutely nothing to do with any of the other stories. Or it could be a prequel to AW: A Dress. It doesn't matter.   
Acknowledgments: Many thanks to Rye and Nancy for excellent beta. All remaining mistakes are my own, and please feel free to call me on them.  
Feedback: PLEASE

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness IX: Of Course  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course this land is dangerous. 

You can walk down the street and die half a hundred times before making it to the corner. And then if you try to *cross* the street.... Yeah, I'm paranoid. And afraid a lot. And it makes me feel so so good to just go out there and shiver.

Pull back my lip and throb with the intensity of terror. You must think it's absurd. An impediment to current employment, at least. It isn't, though. Fear is the assassin's friend. If you're not afraid, you relax. And the first time you relax is when They get you. Bang bang and you're done. I'm nowhere near ready to be done.

And if you're not too careful someone could slap a pair of cuffs on you. Or just the one, as the case may be. You can lose yourself in the clasp of cold steel on your wrist and remember the last time, and the time before. 

Wonder if he's got another Alpha male up his sleeve to dump you on to be beaten and fucked, and fucked again. No telling what would come next. No escape. Yeah, steel tight and binding and hit me again, just because you can, and it's the only thing you can do. 

Or if he's gonna finish what he started after that *other* time. I pretended to be asleep and he touched me there, and there, and rested his lips on my left nipple -- just the left one-- and it was more a kiss of warm breath than anything else but I was only wearing a t-shirt and it was so cold in the cell and it felt so good to just hold myself there, right there.

Wonder if he would bite me. I could see it, feel it almost. He would have been so hesitant... It's a game, I'm still asleep... And I'd feel his teeth just graze me at first and it would be so hard to keep still but it's good to be still and he'd bite down harder when I stayed still. Harder still if I could keep myself to only a moan.

Did I tell you about his hand? It was a purely neutral weight on my thigh. He wouldn't touch me any more than that. And then, after an endless time of reminding myself to breathe slow and steady, he walked back to his own cot and jerked himself off. In near silence. I understood. Sometimes it's better to wait. 

Other times, though, I find myself on a fire escape and watching, watching. Absolutely shocked he doesn't feel my eyes, doesn't seem to hear me creep and skulk my way inside. Doesn't flinch when I place the gun, warm from my body, against his ear.

He says:

"What took you so long?"

And leans his head against your belly. Burrowing. Nuzzling. 

And I realize he knows exactly how good it feels to be terrified and love it so much you don't do a damn thing to protect yourself. Or, if you do, it's only so you can survive long enough to have your heart wrung, your soul wrung, just a little bit drier.

I say:

"I'm going to hurt you, you know."

And when he laughs, it's so perfectly, happily mocking, that I know it's what he wanted all along. 

~~~~~  
End.  
~~~~~

 

* * *

 

21 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness X: Shameless  
by Te  
9/98  
Disclaimers: I want them. Badly. I think we all know that by now.  
Spoilers: None.  
Summary: Alex does a little something for Mulder.  
Ratings Note: Big, fat NC-17.  
Warnings: No redeeming value. At all. Don't blame me when you don't find any. ;-)  
Author's Note: This is all Pretty Pretty Pares' fault. I just gave her what she asked for. M/K, ludicrously power-trippy. Oh yeah, and the outfit is hers, too. <smirk>   
Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon for being a most enthusiastic audience. To K'Kathy, Carol, and Rachel for fine, fine beta in the face of absurdity. All remaining mistakes are my own.  
Feedback: PLEASE. Always.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness X: Shameless  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd said:

"Do something for me?"

In just that flat, dangerous rasp that twitched my cock clear out of freshly-laid sensibility and jerked my vocal cords into:

"Anything you want, Mulder..." And I smiled at him then. Probably quite stupidly, in retrospect, but the look I got in return was worth it for sheer lustful malevolence. I considered the image of him in leathers, filed it away for later use. 

He laid a hand on my chest... 

"Anything, Alex?"

... and, all things considered, the shower was a great deal of fun. Mulder wielded the razor skillfully and damn if I didn't nearly come afterwards from just the water sluicing down my bare legs. Made me think of the first time I'd done it for a john.... An artifice of vulnerability -- more binding than, say, makeup -- but still safe. The armpits weren't as much fun, but his tongue afterwards...

But the tease wouldn't go any farther. I was rock hard and about four seconds from kicking his legs out from under him and fucking his face when he pulled the... outfit... from the closet. 

Plain white blouse. Navy thigh highs. I was OK, really. The blouse could be just a lightweight shirt. Any lightweight shirt. The thigh-highs... well, they had the appearance of soft wool and I must admit I wanted to know how they'd feel going on. If he'd do it himself or watch me.

But I really wasn't counting on the skirt. Plaid. The sort with about seven different shades of that grey-blue that's supposed to say "prim," but always sounds a lot more like "flip me up and fuck this handy ass," instead. 

Well, that's what they sounded like to me. 

I looked at Mulder. His eyes were glittering, flickering in the realm of the skirt's shades. His lips were slightly parted and it looked like he was breathing as hard as it felt like I was. Breathing. 

"Don't touch yourself."

I raised an eyebrow, moderately confused. Looked down to find I was stroking myself rather steadily. 

I wanted to ask:

"What are you going to do to me?"

But it made it seem so final. I wanted to believe I still had some choice in this. Especially when he brought out the panties. 

Nothing frilly, mind you. That would have been... easier, I think. These were plain, white cotton panties. Wide elastic band and I could feel how they would press, and press, against my cock.

"Mulder...." I wanted it to be a question, but it wasn't. 

"Put it on, Alex. Please."

He didn't look me in the eye... He seemed to be focused on my throat. I brought my hand up, felt the pulse pounding under the skin. Walked a little closer. 

"What should I put on first?"

No hesitation beyond a sharp pink tongue running fast and wet over his lower lip. "Thigh-highs."

He rolled one conveniently for me -- this was a performance that would have to be repeated -- while I struggled with the other. 

Couldn't keep myself from hissing at the feel of it on my skin, God, I hadn't shaved in years. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and my cock was painting my belly. I didn't want to wait very long for the game to start, tried to flex a bit as I rolled the thing on. This was a deliberate abrasion, a subtle torture I knew was only going to get worse. Wonderful.

Mulder watched me intently but didn't touch, damn him. 

Second one went on a little easier and I stood, made my way into his space, felt those flat-tipped fingers tug at the band of my --they were mine, now -- thigh-highs.

"What next?"

His eyes were a bit unfocused so I took advantage, dove in for a kiss, sucked his tongue into my mouth and promised. Begged. Caught the acid tang of need and pulled away. 

His eyes narrowed some. "I'll get you for that."

I just smiled.

"For now, though... the blouse."

Simple to get it over my arms but that cool-water brush of silk... I wondered if his revenge would involve my nipples at all. It felt dirty to have my cock smearing the blouse. I wanted... I *wanted*.

"What next?"

"Turn around."

I panted at him. That's the only way to put it.

"Turn around, Alex."

I obeyed, bent at the waist, splayed my hands on the ancient blue coverlet. Some commands could be anticipated. 

I felt his hands on my ass, kneading, spreading. The silk of the blouse was pulling a bit at the shoulders.... I am broader than Mulder. My cock was bobbing and leaking. 

The first stab of his tongue was shocking, a pleasure so bright I howled with it. It went on for a little eternity and I don't know what I was saying but it was tinged with regret... I wanted, so badly, for this game to continue and I knew he could bring me off like this, so easily. The feel of his hand, warm and sure, on my cock nearly did it but the vicious squeeze at the base...

Well, I was OK for a while after that. I wasn't sure whether to curse and face more of his torture or bite it back... like a good boy. Or girl. 

I settled for sagging a little. The blouse was clinging to my back. The thigh-highs were starting to itch with my sweat.

"Stand up and face me, Alex."

I don't know what I looked like but I felt... usable.

"What next?" 

And the "sir" wanted, very badly, to come out, but I wouldn't let it.

Mulder heard it anyway, of course.

"The skirt, Alex."

Did I pull it down over my head? It looked tight, like it would pull on my cock as I shimmied into it. I didn't know if I could handle that.

Mulder smiled, reached out and stroked my face. 

"Just step into it. I'll button the side for you."

Absurd gratitude. It was always far, far too easy to play these games. Dangerous, too. Mulder had to know I'd get him back for this. 

I obeyed, watched the fabric sway over the thigh-highs as I pulled it up, held the buttons for Mulder to fasten, looking over his shoulder. The skirt was wool, too, and it was scratching my cock maddeningly.

And then he stood and just looked at me for a long time. Smirked at the tent my erection was making of the skirt. Twisted a nipple through the blouse and I moaned. He wanted me to beg for the last bit, of course.

He picked up the folds of the skirt and rubbed them back and forth. I bucked, helplessly.

"What do you want, Alex?"

I wanted to be able to hold out but then he leaned forward and bit my nipple hard. It was all I could do to stand still, to keep my knees from buckling. I think I cried his name. 

He pulled away and there was a large wet circle over my right nipple. Clinging there. I wanted him to send me out on the street. I wanted him to spin me around and fuck me hard. Christ, there's no way to explain how fucking worthless I felt that I wasn't being *utterly* used at that moment. This was, suddenly, all I was good for.

"Please... let me put on the panties."

I barely recognized the sound of my own voice, but it seemed to please him. He nodded and smiled gently, but I could see his fingers were trembling a little bit. This was... this was different. 

I stepped in, and I felt like a child. I felt like a slut. I felt like a fraud, knowing these panties would be stained the second they touched -- oh God...

I thought the skirt was bad but these were so tight... I squirmed, shamelessly, until Mulder caught me by the hip. 

Under my skirt and I felt his thumb stroke along the bone for a moment. I couldn't look at his face until the other hand caught me by the jaw. Forced it.

Raw need. Anger. Fear. 

Yeah, I understood it perfectly. I wondered how much more of this we could take. When he kissed me this time it was bruising and that was just fine, too. I wound up on the bed, on my back... but that wasn't how he wanted me.

One last grind, a vicious bite on my lip and he pulled off. Caught the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. I was cold and I needed him back.

"Get over here. Crawl. Across my legs."

At that point, I couldn't even spare one part of myself for thoughts of the inevitable payback. All I could do was kneel up and obey, slide as much of myself as I could over those leanly muscled thighs, gasping as they scraped across my nipples, moaning at the feel of my cock pressing...

"You're so hard, Alex..."

The voice was rough and needful and he wasn't touching me, yet, but I could feel his hands hovering over my body.

"Slide up a little more.... Yeah, that's it."

He flipped my skirt up and the temperature difference was shocking. Made me wait for it.

"You're mine, you know that?"

"Yes."

"You're my whore, you know that?"

"Yes."

"What do you deserve?"

"Anything you think I do."

He shifted under me and I could hear the stifled groan. When his hand fell the first time it was barely a glancing blow. He was testing me, grabbing hard at my ass. I didn't think I could beg for more of this.... It was too much to ask. He knew that, though, and without further torture for the both of us, the slaps began falling fast and hard. 

I know I jerked with each one, grinding myself down into him and up again, desperate to meet, desperate to please. It hurt and I was burning and I wished to God he'd peel back the panties and work me harder still... I think he doubted his own ability to handle it. 

More of forever, and the sound of my own cries mingling with his grunts and I wanted more... And then he stopped. Pushed me off his lap with brusque efficiency. 

I was aching and angry and shamed and then he grabbed me by the back of my neck and took my mouth with his cock. Several vicious thrusts, blunt-salty and careless, and it was over, his come leaking out the side of my mouth, ass burning under my skirt, the panties soaking with my own helpless pre-come. 

I looked up at him then, flushed and panting, still hard. 

"Pull your cock out, Alex."

I obeyed. Tried to hold back the groan. My balls were still trapped. 

"Jerk off for me."

I held his eyes, ran my thumb over my length. Let him watch me flush with it. 

Caught myself in my fist and squeezed. Managed to keep my eyes open just so I could watch him watching me. I kept it slow for as long as I could; I wanted to remember that hunger for the rest of my life. He couldn't tear his eyes away and it was wonderful.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of me. 

Bent down and... hovered is the best way to put it, over my cock. Pulling back and following my movements like... like nothing I'd ever seen. I had to close my eyes, then. 

Pulled faster, dug the nails of my other hand into the carpeting to avoid either freeing my balls or grabbing Mulder.... Neither one would be allowed, at this point. I felt a slash of his tongue over the head, jerked and gasped.

"Keep going." 

Breathed against me. I couldn't hold this much longer. Another tongue slash. "Please..."

"Please what?"

"Suck my cock. Swallow me down. Please..."

Another swipe and I nearly howled. I could feel the fingers of my other hand cramping. I was heavy and slick but I had to wait for his pleasure. And keep stroking myself. 

"Take your hand off your cock."

Almost impossible at this point, but I did it. And then there was a hand slipping between my thighs, freeing my balls and before I could even cry my relief a furnace of wet heat was surrounding me.

I know I called his name, bucked as much as I was able. 

And then a finger snuck further back and teased me and I was coming hard, yelling and sobbing. 

I woke to find him nuzzling me. I'm not sure if it was apology or affection or lust or some combination of the three, but it was pleasant. 

Sated again, it was just a silly, stained uniform. 

But it was mine. 

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

22 September 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness XI: Necessities  
by Te  
9/98  
Disclaimers: I sent them home where they belong and the bruises hardly show at *all*.  
Spoilers: Small one for Pine Bluff Variant. This does not mean there's anything resembling a plot.  
Summary: Alex deals with a problem.  
Acknowledgments: To Spike and Nancy for fine beta in the face of shameless Tedrama. All remaining irregularities, oddities, ambiguities, etc., are entirely my own fault.  
Author's Note: Starts out weird, stays that way. No relation to any of the other AWs.  
Feedback: PLEASE.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XI: Necessities  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pares: Tell me a story. A little one. About Mulder's broken finger. About what Alex would do/did to get around it? And roller skates. 

Te: Well, hmmm...

Mulder is, of course, eager to see his rat and is all over him like gravy on biscuits from the moment he hears that familiar thump of bootheel on carpet, so much more muted than the one in his soul. 

Alex is pleased to oblige Mulder's welcome and they soon wind up on the floor, wedged -- mostly comfortably -- between coffee table and couch.

"Owch."

"What?"

"Nothing, don't stop--"

"What the *hell* did you do to yourself?"

Mulder heaves a sigh. Does his best to coax Alex's hand; that fine, strong callused hand back where it belongs with a slow, tight roll of his hips. Alex groans but manages to remain focused on his face. He's waiting for an answer. It's infuriating, intriguing, and Mulder stores this evidence of control away for later play. 

"Some terrorists, a fuck-up of classic proportions..." A shrug, difficult when flat on one's back, but still feasible. "It's not like I broke anything *important*, Alex." 

Mulder lets his hips arch up into another roll. Alex's lashes flutter closed, and Mulder knows it is less the sluttish demands of his body than the flat affection of his voice. He has a moment to fear this power before Alex dives in fast, faster than he *ever* expects -- claims his mouth with bruising efficiency; centers himself within the cradle of Mulder's legs and thrusts. Mulder groans at the bright wash of sensation -- and then he hears the neat little *snick* of the cuff on his wrist.

"Wha--"

"Just a precaution, Mulder. Don't want you hurting yourself." Wicked knife-slash smile. "Any more than necessary."

He's been cuffed to the coffee table. The coffee table. A moment and he can feel his cheeks flush with irritation but then he remembers his *other* hand is quite free. He runs it up the lean torso and catches a nipple through the t-shirt with ruthless ease. Alex moans and bucks and this is moving much too fast but it feels so so good. 

"You're right, of course, Alex..." His tone makes the deep eyes narrow at him-- it always does -- and Alex immediately sets to undoing his suit pants, cupping him roughly through the cotton of his boxer briefs.

"How do you want this, Mulder?" A squeeze to buck into. "Hunh?" Thumb caress over the trapped and leaking head of his cock. 

"No rougher than strictly necessary..." His voice is hoarse and low but Mulder is pleased that he's able to tease.

And then, without ceremony, Alex yanks down his boxer briefs and the night dusty air is chill and welcome on his cock. It seems impossible, suddenly, that he was ever anything but aching for this, whatever this should turn out to be.

Alex jerks himself down Mulder's body and takes him deep into his mouth, pressing his forearm against Mulder's hip to keep him still. Mulder yells and jerks against the cuff. This is the hand he *usually* uses to guide Alex's head at times like these. The other hand is not slow to learn its new role, however, and soon his fingers bury themselves in the soft spikes of the younger man's hair. Just in time for Alex to pull off and begin torturing the head of his cock with his sharp, clever tongue.

This is too much, and not enough and when an ill-judged glance at the clock shows that only a bare few minutes have passed Mulder feels something tighten at the base of his neck, some twist of sanity to be contemplated, or not, when this was over and Alex was going down again. The first graze of teeth is a warning and a promise and Mulder howls this time, harsh and needful, and that sleek furnace of velvet and knives Alex calls a mouth is a temptation beyond the definition of sin. 

There's nothing to do but surrender to this and he lets his body go, lets it struggle uselessly against the powerful arm holding him down, lets his hand flop to the side, clutch at the couch and hear the dusty leather make alarming ripping noises that only shoot more blood into his want-heavy cock and only a few moments more and he's arching into a bow, a weapon of flesh spending itself for the target of his lover. 

Minutes, days later his free hand has found its way inside Alex's jeans and the slick heat is a pleasure, and the way Alex throws his head back is, too, and the way Mulder's name shapes itself amidst the short, stuttery streams of Russian is warming and ominous. Alex comes quickly, with one last raw cry and slumps on top of him. Short, strangely intimate laps and Mulder's chin has been licked clean, a slow, sleepy kiss of bitters and satisfaction follows. 

He gives Alex time to pant against his ear, does his best to get comfortable in the tangle of limbs and rumpled clothing before he asks:

"What do I get for a broken wrist?"

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

Sorry about the roller skates... <g>

 

* * *

 

25 October 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness XII: Again  
A Burnt!Te Production   
10/98  
Disclaimers: Still not mine, and even after I double dog dared CC and *everything*.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Ratings Note: S for Sillyheads doing Silly things.  
Summary: Oy! Again with the hurting...  
Author's Note: Happy Birthday, Holmes! This just sort of whapped me on the head when I thought about what I might give you for a birthday present...

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XII: Again  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was wearing a dress. 

*Again*.

My heart burned. My soul ached with the force of a thousand impacted teeth. I was *sooo* mad. 

I said:

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, what the hell is wrong with you? Haven't we been *over* this?"

He only gazed at me with that flat, really flat stare he does so well, smoothed the crinoline. I thought of all those other nights. It hadn't always been like this. I could live with the kilts, and those sarong things we picked up on the trip to Samoa really brought out his eyes.

Those eyes, changeable as a summer's day and twice as deadly. I'd seen them from across a crowded bullpen and known, right then and there, that it would all end as badly as a party at Chuck E. Cheese.

I said:

"How many times do we have to do this thing we do? You with the dresses, me with the knives and the scarring and the hey hey hey?"

He rolled on his belly but continued to stare, and I marveled at the power of his eyedrops for him to be able to go so long without blinking like he did. I mean, the regular eyedrops only do so much, you know? And then people start thinking you're a pothead and *no* one wants to hire you for the really important assassinations and your career is, like, *sooo* dead. Like his eyes.

I said:

"Mulder?"

Because I really wasn't sure he could hear me, what with those big tufted taffeta shoulder things blocking his ears. But he only blinked, slowly and provocatively. A dog with a bright green flea collar. 

So I took out my knife.

He said:

"Why don't we talk about this, Alex? I mean, really, what *is* your problem with the dresses and the knives and the scarring and the hey hey hey? We're two consenting adults, after all. See, I've got the blue hanky and everything."

He taunted me with a slow stretch, tugging at the rainbow leg warmers before sprawling out again. A real winner of a Muldersprawl it was, too, all sprawling-like.

I said:

"This isn't about *my* problems, Mulder."

And then I did that snarl thing like I was the big bad wolf and he was the fat, sassy doe, but it just didn't work. There was no frolic forthcoming. No gambol of sprawly limbs. No, that wasn't what I was in for. 

He said: 

"Let's talk about your father."

And it was always the same, this was just the way it went. Whine and counterwhine, a bad wine, like Ripple, or even Night Train, and I remembered the way it would flow, fast and dirty like the mighty Monongahela. Flow, like tears. In rain. Dirty rain.

I shook my fist at him, railed at the very heavens above. And then he did the thing that undid me, spoiled me like a metaphor of milk left too long, oh so long, in the nasty, awful, evil, naughty summer sun. He grabbed my fist in his own, and I lost myself in the glitter of his nail polish for a fleeting moment of...

He said:

"Alex, inside every fist is five individual fingers, yearning to be free. Let your fingers go free. Free."

I stared at him, blinking back the dirty, rain-like tears moistening my sprawled lashes.

And when he pulled out the assortment of tube tops, I did not fight.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

25 October 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness XIII: Sunless Morning  
by Te  
10/98  
Disclaimers: These fellows aren't mine, and I wish them all the best with their cruel, cruel master.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Ratings Note: Strong R for language and m/m interaction.  
Summary: Mulder and Alex do some talking.  
Author's Note: I was talking with Pretty Pretty Pares about wacky dreams and the marvelous story she'd made from hers... She asked about mine. Starts off weird and goes from there.   
Acknowledgments: To Sister Blue because she sings me river songs... Thanks to Pretty Pretty for being a fine audience, and to Rachel and Spike for wonderful beta.  
Feedback: Please. Always. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XIII: Sunless Morning  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Daddy793: Moses I know,  
      I know you seen fire  
      But you never seen fire  
      Until you seen Pele blow...  
      Ashre, ashre, ashre, ashre...

      The geeksmut club.

    Daddy793: Wow... I had some M/K mindfuck dreams.

    SkaLab6066: <g> I spose. Really? Share? Or too dark?

    Daddy793: I think your story is wonderful. Clean and neat and whapow.

    SkaLab6066: No silly. Share your dreams.

    Daddy793: Oh, Mulder and Krycek are holed up somewhere. They're sleeping in separate rooms. Apparently there've been issues before this. UST but no smut. Mulder wakes up one morning, way too early. Creeps into Alex's room. Mutters something like

"Jeez, Krycek. Least you could have done is left a few of those buttons undone. Give a man something to fantasize about."

Alex didn't move or open his eyes, just ripped the loose, white button-down open, and rested his hand on his own chest.

"You're thinking: That's more like it."

    SkaLab6066: Wooohooo!

    SkaLab6066: See? That's my girl.. the sexiest subconcious ever I've seen....

    Daddy793: "You're thinking about resting your hand on my pec.... there's no hair there..."

Alex began to touch himself, eyes still closed, the rest of him still.

"The skin is smooth, warm with sleep. You're thinking he hasn't moved. It'd be all right if I moved the shirt over a little bit. Ran a hand over the nipple..."

Alex did so, with a degree of surreptitiousness that should have been ridiculous considering the game. Mulder bit his lip at the sight of flat, dusky rose, puckering under a touch he knew was too gentle...

Gentle enough that Alex would be able to pretend it wasn't his own hand.

"Krycek, what the fuck are you doing?"

Alex didn't stop, arched a little into his own touch. The eyes were still closed but the lashes began to flutter. Stammer in the approximation of that state between waking and sleep. He made a breathy sound.

"You're wondering about the sound he just made. Wondering if he'll do it again. If he'll moan. Wondering what you'll have to do to make him moan. Or gasp..."

Mulder leaned against the doorframe with a sour smirk, but didn't leave. "I'm partial to high-pitched yelps and sobs, myself."

A slight twitch to Alex's mouth.

"Or think you are... Maybe you'll have to do more than just touch him to make him do that. Or maybe just be a little. More. Harsh."

With that Alex took the hardened nub between his fingers. Pinched and twisted hard. The sound he *did* make was almost indescrible... a desperate whimper of pain and satisfaction that pooled knowingly in Mulder's groin. He pressed himself harder against the doorframe, feeling the long since broken lock mechanism dig into his spine... but didn't leave.

"You know he's awake now but he won't open his eyes... his body is moving restlessly, trying to anticipate where the next touch will fall, and whether it will... hurt..."

Alex suddenly ripped the rest of the shirt away, leaving it to puddle unevenly about his shoulders, made a small motion of surprise... perhaps at the breeze from the open doorway.

"This is the point where you think you should shock him with gentleness. Dip your tongue in his navel... but you know how oral you are. The taste of his skin, his moans..."

Light tapping of his own hand along the center line of his chest and Alex let out a noise, soft and low and Mulder caught himself just two short steps from the mattress, hand reaching out...

"But you know precisely how oral you are. You know that would end the game too fast. So you settle for running your hands all over his torso, a series of steady movements but you're pressing hard against him... testing him with a measure of your full weight. Is that what he wants?"

Mulder swallowed, gripped himself through the jeans. Squeezed hard enough to make his eyes water. "Krycek, you *did* say we needed an early start." Mulder's voice was much too low, but he almost sounded convinced.

"You saw it in his eyes last night. You know he wants you. You always knew... but last night, when he caught your hand. Why *were* you going to punch him? You don't remember and it makes you angry..."

Alex paused just long enough for Mulder to begin to rifle through his memory for the incident, but the husky purr dragged him right back. The hand was creeping in slow circles toward the slight bulge under the sheets.

"But last night he just looked at you. His eyes were wide and dark and you knew he'd do anything. Anything at all... if you'd only touch him like you're doing now. Make him come. You wonder what he'd do for you if you got him off..."

Mulder gave up, fisted his hands in the fabric of his jeans. The only thing to do was watch as that hand slipped beneath the sheets... He couldn't tell what it was doing and he wanted--

"Please--"

Alex's voice almost broke on the word... it had to have been a squeeze, the other man liked it rough. He knew--

"You squeeze him roughly, once, and again. Run your... your thumb over the wet spot on his shorts..."

There was a moment of triumph that he'd called it correctly but Alex just kept talking.

"And you only *thought* you knew how far he'd go to make you touch him with desire, just the one time... He'd suck you, definitely. Take you deep and then lay back and let you fuck his mouth just as roughly as you want to. He'd let you flip him over and fuck him hard. He's no virgin but you think you know just how good that tight, tight ass would feel on your cock..."

Alex pulled his hand out from under the sheets with a vicious jerk and his hips bucked a little in protest. A frustrated noise and the eyes moved a little more purposefully under the lashes.

"You can see he's getting angry. He looks like he's about to try to take control. You say, don't move. Don't you dare move, Krycek, or I swear -- Please, Mulder, I need it so bad..."

Alex's voice was just as hoarse and needful as it should be. Mulder swayed a little on his feet.

"You watch him writhe on the sheets, note the sharp scent of his desire on the air. It's getting warm. You're getting hot and Krycek... Krycek's a fucking furnace. You take his nipple between your teeth and--"

He used his nails this time. Cried out and something indecipherable... possibly Russian... spilled from his lips. Wet and a little swollen and Mulder had no idea when the other man had had time to bite them...

"You wonder... you wonder if this is the way he'd always wanted it. He'd never... never just hit on you. Just those looks. Those little touches..."

Alex never stopped pinching his own nipple and Mulder ached in sympathy. 

"He knew how much you hated the obvious. How it always made you look for the hidden trap. So he would've been subtle about it. He would've known you'd pick it up anyway. Or, at the very least, he would've-- He starts begging again. Mulder please, God it hurts just please fuck me. Anything you want, anything you want..."

Mulder reeled at the sound. Alex had cut his Mulder interpretation off and was begging steadily. The words were of that deep, sick need that bypassed the language centers of the brain altogether and took up residence in the balls. He couldn't help himself, breathed deep and yes the other man was right. The air was thickening and warm and the taste made his tongue curl against his teeth...

"You don't listen to him, bite harder. You want to finish the thought. It's the absolute least Krycek owes you. He's a bastard and a slut. He wants this bad... He would've thought you'd pick it up one of those times. There were so many... it seems absurd this had never happened before. Maybe he shouldn't have been so subtle. Maybe he should've just *asked* --"

And that hand finally let go of the tortured nipple and slipped beneath the sheet again. Complex movement but Mulder knew the second Alex got himself in hand --

"Oh, God, yes --"

Mulder felt his lip curl and welcomed it. "You're telling me an awful lot about yourself, Krycek." Smooth and cool as water.

The eyes finally shot open. Fixed him with a smug glare... yes, they were dilated, but the voice was flat. "Am I?"

Without another word Alex slipped out of the bed with simple, animal grace. The shirt fell off as Alex padded into the bathroom they shared, closing the door behind him.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

29 October 1998  
Afternoon Weirdness XIV: Hard Times  
by Te  
10/98  
Disclaimers: Not mine, but the drugs are.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Ratings Note: Ummm... call it R. And S. The sillyheads have returned.  
Summary: Mulder muses on life.  
Author's Note: torch told me to get a new fetish. Blame *her*.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XIV: Hard Times  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I watched my lover preparing to leave by the smoky grey light of another Alexandria dawn. It was always like this, me, lying amidst the tangled sheets of our forbidden passion.

Alex, fumbling with his Barney suit.

Purple was so *wrong* on him.

Times were hard for everyone in the New World Order, and Alex's decision to fight on my -- losing -- side had cost him dearly. Oh, I knew well that blaming myself for this didn't really help either of us, but it's so much easier to do than the alternative.

I did not look forward to reporting to my new assignment. Long had I known of the Consortium's evil, but I'd never suspected they could sink so very, very low. 

Later this afternoon, as I had done every day for the past four years, I would pull my uniform on carefully. Brush imaginary particles of grey, smoky dust from my gleaming nameplate. Shine my sensible wingtips.

And lead tours through the National Museum. 

But not for a few more stolen hours of lassitude. Yes, I would think of my poor, lopsided Alyoshalet. I would weep for him, bitter, smoky tears, for I could not bear to weep for myself. 

Alex didn't look at me, he never did in times like these. But I know he could feel my sobs. I know they burned in his soul. He loves me deeply, in his way, and I treasure it. 

Like the half-eaten deep-fried banana sandwich I stole from Graceland, sealed clean and forever new in lucite, a diamond of plastic. 

Like his pink, fluffy bunny slippers. 

Alex set the bulbous head on his scarred shoulders, and then and only then would he face me, bright glare of morning sun on teeth of felt. So sharp in their false joy.

"I love you, Mulder. And you love me."

I keened for a moment before I could reply. "We... we're a perfect family, Alyoshawampus."

He nodded, big purple head wobbling a bit. He never could get it properly fastened, but I would never dare to help. It was not our way.

And when he left, I turned to my pillow, breathing deep of his essence, now one of the few tangible reminders of his presence in my life. And I wept.

Because I knew, now, what I had to do.

His slippers... 

Pink, like his skin after a time in the killing sun.

Cute, like his adorable widdle noselet.

Fluffy, like his hair after that time in the big industrial dryer. Oh, God! I wailed. Will the bruises never fade?

But I could not weep anymore. 

I was growing dehydrated.

The slippers were right where he'd left them, tucked neatly beneath our battered couch. Alex didn't know -- I will never tell -- but I'd named them long since. No, I will not lie about this. When first I saw their googly eyes shining plasticly at me from their cardboard-ian home I heard their voices in my very soul. 

"Fox," they said, squeaky tones. Furry tones. "Call us by our names, Fox, for we know you, as you know us."

And it was clear in my mind, then. Names, true and real, brushing through the grey smokiness of my brain matter.

Flopsy.

And Fou Fou.

I trembled like a child. I remembered tales of Fou Fou. And angels. And rodents. I cried --

Well, I just cried. And then I said, "Fou Fou, please tell me --Are you here for my Sexylexei, my snookums, my *soul*?!"

And Fou Fou laughed, then, smokily. "No, my Fox. I swear, I would never hurt one that you love, for I love you, too."

And I sighed, then, relieved as a woman for whom the rabbit has not died. I would be safe with them.

Today I tugged them gently from their dusty cradle, softed the fuzz from their eyes. I needed them.

I placed them on my naked form, hopped them over my rosy nipples just to hear them giggle, to feel the drag of soft fur on my skin.

Flopsy looked at me sadly, though. "Again, my Fox?"

I sighed, felt another grey tear slide down my stubbled cheek before setting them to do their Bunnyesquian Dance on my turgid, rampant flesh. 

"Yes, my little loves, again."

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~ 

 

* * *

 

Afternoon Weirdness XV: Good Enough  
by Te  
12/98  
Disclaimers: Not mine at all. Dammit.  
Spoilers: None.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and m/m interaction.   
Summary: Another morning with Mulder and Krycek.  
Author's Note: A while back I had a conversation with Viridian that I just couldn't shake *and* that (eventually) led to this story as well as to yet another nickname that I won't tell you. Oh yeah, and this is a possible sequel to AW10: Shameless. I don´t think it´s necessary to read that one first, though.   
Acknowledgments: To my Sister Blue, because she survived the holidays with her family without winding up jailed for multiple homicide. To Rae for fine audiencing, to Viridian and Alicia for many helpful suggestions and necessary pre-stroke, and to the wicked and wonderful Ladonna for great beta. All remaining mistakes and ambiguities are entirely my own fault, and you should feel free to call me on them at the address below. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XV: Good Enough  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder slipped out of the bathroom, careful not to brush Alex as he went. The other man was still half-asleep -- a level of trust to be proud of -- and pissing steadily. Nothing wrong, per se, with a brush on his way out, but the act tended to do... odd... things to Alex if done while he was relieving himself.

Mulder was willing to admit the fault was his own. It had, after all, been his idea that night to use the shower for those purposes. Mulder swept his gaze over the other man and decided that those purposes demanded a repeat performance.

In the meantime, though, it was another sunless Saturday, January chill and grey, and there was little romance to being nude at such times. On the way to the dresser, though, something on the bed caught his eye. 

He stepped closer to discover... an outfit. Pants and a shirt, nothing too outre, really, but it was velvet. Blue-black of that shade best suited to a bruise on a Jamaican stereotype... and velvet. 

"Put it on."

Alex was just behind him, pressed promisingly close and nuzzling his ear lightly. His face was warm, abruptly alien to Mulder. There were times physical contact became... difficult. When the feel of another body was suddenly just too *different* to be borne. 

Mulder pulled away with a small shake, bent to finger the material. Sat on the bed, turning to face his lover. Alex had pulled away himself, and Mulder wasn't sure whether it was pique or consideration. He was naked, too, and leaned casually against Mulder's -- now apparently useless -- dresser. 

Alex's expression was of that pleasant blandness designed to make people not look twice. It was a surprisingly effective mask on the man, considering the basic difficulties of hiding such an *odd* brand of attractiveness.

The only thing that it made *Mulder* do, however, was think of the days when they had been partners, and shudder. It had been far too easy for Alex to --

"Don't look at me that way."

Alex's nose crinkled into that painfully childish 't' of a frown and he cocked his head. "What way?"

"Like I'm just another mark."

"What do you --" Alex cut himself off with a grin. Unintentionally patronizing, it seemed less to say "you got me," than "you're so cute when you think you know me."

Mulder tried to shake off the run of his thoughts and eyed the outfit again. He felt his lips purse into a moue of distaste. 

"If you wanted to play dress up you could have just bought me a corset or something, Alex."

"What's wrong with what I *did* buy you?" The stress was light, the tone as well. Alex's way of allowing him to move this latest game into the realm of humor. 

It was the sort of thing that made Mulder regretful, especially when something Alex said or did was simply too curious to let pass. As though he was scorning an unfamiliar generosity. 

"You're going to make me look like an aging club kid. Like at any given moment I'll succumb to the inherently annoying melodrama and spout off platitudes about how it's my *right* to be depressed, man."

Alex snickered, shifted a bit on the dresser before moving to the bed. He nudged Mulder's legs apart with a casual knee, knelt between his thighs. The positioning, as always, put a twitch in Mulder's cock and dried his tongue. He couldn't feel it yet, but he was sure that it would become obvious at some point that his IQ was dropping precipitously.

The look in the other man's eyes appeared to shuffle amid any number of expressions before settling, briefly, on earnest. Earnestly what?

Not enough time to ask the question, or even to answer it for himself, before olive eyes shifted to slow burn.

"Mulder..."

Husky and low, hint of an accent perhaps more seductively changeable than even his eyes. 

"Hmmm...?"

Quicksilver grin, perhaps at his inability to come up with something more intelligent, and a slight dip and shift of his head. Alex dragged not-quite-dry lips over Mulder's left thigh and Mulder caught himself spreading wider.

"What is it, Alex?"

Another nuzzle and then Alex was kneeling straight again, expression solemn, eyes sparkling. Mulder wondered, sometimes, whether it hurt to be on constant shuffle that way. Sometimes he looked at Alex and thought of the scent of ozone and melted plastic aging stereo equipment occasionally gave off. But for now...

"Not all Goths are quite like that, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged, made a motion toward waving the assertion off. A learned response so he wouldn't always have to say "yes, I knew that already." 

He knew Alex understood it.

"Besides, I wasn't necessarily thinking Goth so much as... pettable."

"Pettable."

Alex's hand on his left thigh, it should have been too soft to be so plainly possessive. "Yes."

"I'm not... pettable... enough au naturel?"

Fishing. Definitely fishing but there was a high singing wire of recklessness tightening around his throat. Razorwire, and, perhaps, when it had sliced through the flesh he'd simply tell Alex everything...

"...pettable, no. Kissable, yes. Fuckable, definitely. Spankable... any day of the week. But not pettable."

"I feel like I should be insulted."

"Don't be. No one who isn't fuzzy is pettable."

"Really?" Mulder ran one finger down the smooth -- he'd taken the time to shave -- line of Alex's jaw, down his throat, over one wing of the collarbone. Alex watched him closely, but did not move. In this position, the other man resembled nothing more nor less than a piece of brilliant machinery. It was really no wonder at all that an Alex in motion made every hair prickle in electric attention. "Not even someone with silk-smooth skin, creamy and inviting?"

Alex's expression turned faintly mocking, and there was no sign of flattered embarrassment. Mulder was grateful for the moment of honesty, and moved his hand down to rub awkwardly at a nipple. Alex mmmed at him once before speaking.

"I need to get some sun and the proper term for people like me is 'strokeable.'"

Mulder pressed a little harder before slipping around to Alex's back and tugging him closer. "Not pettable?"

"Not pettable."

Lazy play, the sort that could last for hours without either of them noticing, but time was always a concern and Mulder *wanted*.

"Get up here."

Speculative gleam this time and then Mulder was on his back, securely covered by Alex's warmth and flex. He tested his legs and found them free of entanglement, which was upsetting. He did his own tangling and nudged Alex's leg just hard enough to make the man start to rock his lower thigh.

Too good for such a casual move and Mulder rubbed himself along the other man's thigh, ran the arm untrapped by Alex's grip down to the firm muscle of his ass and pulled hard. Alex responded by moving in for a slow, deep kiss and rotating his hips. The move brought to mind the dance as foreplay, the effect that of watching any consummate performer -- lost to his act, yet fully aware of what he does to the audience.

Mulder groaned into Alex's mouth and had his tongue suckled for a brief moment of messily easy lust before the other man broke the kiss with a wet smack and an animalistic *push*. Alex used his face for such brute acts of gentle distancing, unwary of an angry snap or perhaps simply confident that Mulder would no more mar that beauty than scar himself. 

There were times when Mulder eyed corkscrews and his own flesh with a brand of speculative desire. 

"Put it on? For me?"

"I feel the need to remind you that a, we're both already naked, and b, changing that state of affairs would prove terribly inconvenient, considering the fact that I'm, c, more than ready for you to show me just how fuckable I am."

Widely happy smile. "And spankable. Don't forget spankable."

"How could I? Move off me a little more, and I'll turn over so you can show me that, too."

Alex's smile mutated into something quite predatory and then Mulder was being bitten. On the cheek, on the chin, just below the ear, one nipple, two, a rib, his navel and there was the slickly hot tongue and then teeth again, just off to the sides of his genitals. Too close not to be feared, too far away not to be impossibly erotic.

"Alex--"

"Put it on."

Mulder met the other man's gaze with difficulty, finally propping himself up on one elbow and staring down the peppered-red length of his own body to do so. Alex was poised, crouched above his hips, lips parted, moving almost too subtly to be noticed save for the hallucinatory flashes of teeth. It occurred to Mulder, perhaps a bit late, that *he* wasn't the one who needed to be leashed...

But there was no leash here, just velvet clothes, and Mulder realized that if he didn't put them on now, as distasteful as the idea was, there'd be just that much more time to be painfully unsatisfied. 

"You didn't say the magic word." That didn't mean he couldn't be irritating about the capitulation. 

Alex snickered, sucked hard for a tiny flash of hurt and *yes*, and then looked up again. "Please put it on, Mulder."

"Well, since you asked so *nice*..." And his voice was shaky, but he decided the effect was a pleasant one. 

The jacket-y shirt slipped on easily, the interior vaguely slick and satiny. Cool on his nipples, just tight enough that Mulder found himself hoping he wouldn't have to raise his arms -- it would've ruined the lines. The pants, though...

He looked at the pants, his erection, the pants, his erection, Alex. 

"No chance of underwear, I suppose?"

Alex was lounging against the headboard, eyes roving along Mulder's body like a sprinkle of glitter on a sticky page. It was impossible to feel ridiculous in the beam of that gaze, naked from the waist down or no. 

"Do you really want to wear *boxers* under those, Mulder?"

It was the sort of smile that made a person want to change everything about themselves just to be able to say, "no, you *don't* know me, dammit," but Mulder decided it would be easier on his sanity to play along.

"Boxer briefs wouldn't disturb the... aesthetics... as much."

"Yeah, but I'd know. And *you'd* know."

Mulder ran one hand along his chest, winter-rough palm catching slightly on the subtle nap of the shirt. It didn't do too much for him, but then he was avoiding the sensitive spots. And he wasn't doing it for himself, anyway.

"Alex."

He could almost feel the pull as the other man dragged his stare up and over his body to Mulder's eyes. There was certainly something tugging on his cock, in any case, and Mulder had the distinct impression that this outfit wouldn't get more than one wearing. 

"What is it?"

"Don't you want to touch me yet?"

Alex winced like he'd been hit, hissing. It was the sort of cruelty that rebounded on the punisher, but Mulder had always believed Medea had had a point. And there was nothing quite like making Alex lose control.

"Of course I want to touch you..." 

Low, almost angry, certainly... impatient. Mulder didn't have a clue as to how much of the impatience was due to restrained lust and how much was just --

"Put the pants on and I will."

Mulder picked up the pants, held them against his waist. It would be a tight fit, but not an unforgiving one. "What are you getting out of this?"

"I'll show you when you're dressed." 

No one made promises like Alex Krycek. Mulder was reasonably positive that nothing short of throat cancer would make it any easier to refuse the man when he was *really* trying. A distressing power imbalance, unhelped by the knowledge that he could make Alex do quite a few strange things himself. 

The skirt came to mind, for an example, but then.... Mulder couldn't help believing there was no real *effort* on the other man's part when it came to his requests. Alex certainly never made *him* work this hard. And yet, it was far too easy to turn what had started out as a perfectly healthy criticism into just another reason to berate himself when the man, inevitably, left.

Same smooth and cool interior as the top, but this was different somehow, more noticeable. It was a pleasant distraction to try to decide *why*. It could've been the no-going back finality of stepping in and pulling up, with its uncomfortable resonances to childhood. It could've been the simple fact Mulder hadn't worn anything this tight on his legs since college, while he wore tee shirts quite often. It could've been the perverse-bordering-on-idiotic act of putting *on* clothes when his cock had been aching so long that pain was becoming a highly sexualized familiarity. 

Which brought Alex to mind again, and he paused at the moderately terrifying task of zipping the fly to take another look at him. Hungry and that wasn't going to help him get that fly up. Stroking himself and no Russian dog ever reacted so predictably to such a sight. Mulder prided himself on his ability to redirect the learned urges.

"Do it for me, Alex."

A quirked eyebrow and then Alex was sliding off the bed and on his knees. He used his hand to push Mulder's cock back out of the way, and his teeth to tug the zipper up. There were times that Mulder didn't mind the fact that he couldn't *quite* call Alex his lover. 

Alex stood then, careful to rub his entire front along Mulder's body as he went. He was happy he hadn't taken the time to raise the thermostat this morning, because long sleeves and long pants were anything but conducive to heat. The pants were already much too tight, the force of his erection seemingly enough to stretch the fabric obscenely over his ass.

Mulder was too warm and too hard and all he could think of himself as was shrink-wrapped meat. Alex grabbed his ass and pulled them together hard, thrusting against Mulder with instinctive rhythm, but not kissing him. Alex held his face perhaps three inches away, a distance that Mulder used to find impossibly provocative but was now only troubling.

"You're beautiful. I should have brought some eye-liner, maybe kohl --"

"You do realize what a ridiculous statement that is to make to someone you *had* naked, don't you?" 

By the easy chuckle he received in response it was clear that his attempt to pull the fear and bitterness out of his tone had been all too successful. But then Alex began kissing him, soft on his eyelids and cheekbones, sensuously slow and pressured on his lips. And his hand never stopped moving.

"Come back to the bed, Mulder. Please."

A mockery? A remembered consideration? The careful act of a man whose fantasy is perhaps mere moments from being fulfilled? It didn't matter, it didn't matter. Mulder was on the bed and subjected to the restless *petting* of a man there was never enough touch with, anyway. 

Thumb over a nipple and there was that curious shiver that came with being fondled while clothed, that abrupt need to keep one's eyes wide and watchful, lest one find oneself touched by the dead. 

But Alex... Alex was all flesh and alive. Nude, moving over him like a skittish dog, fast and light. The strain of muscle was easy to see -- he was holding himself back from crushing Mulder, or perhaps just from getting enough physical contact to come. But a hand here, his cheek there, his thigh oh christ his *thigh* --

Mulder had never thought he would look back on those drunken, over-heated grope sessions with fondness, and this wasn't *really* fondness, but if Alex kept doing that he was going to lose it in his brand new pants. And not care at all. Flex and thrust, flex and nudge and there was no real rhythm to match so Mulder didn't even try. Let loose to find his own pleasure, so long as he continued to surrender his velveteen body to the endless strokes--

"Hey, I thought this was supposed to be about petting."

Alex slammed his forehead against Mulder's shoulder a few times. "I lied. Look, if you *really* want me to just *pet* you, you can slip off this bed, rest your head on my thigh, and prepare to be otherwise ignored for several hours. I've been told the game has its merits, but I don't think either of us have the attention span."

"I've got some Ritalin in the bathroom..."

"No you don't, I checked."

Mulder froze for a moment -- only then realizing that he'd continued to undulate despite the lack of attention -- but refused to allow his mind to make him more wary of Alex. A little voice spoke of one-eighties, but it was far too quiet beneath the pound of his heart when Alex flipped him over. Hands and knees, no, wait, knees and shoulders. His head was turned awkwardly away from the other man, his body a rough triangle. 

Mulder watched his shadow move on the opposite wall, warm golden light of lamp providing more than enough illumination for this small show. His shadow's legs could've been naked, were it not for the fuzzed up remnants of Alex's passing, Impulsive, forgetful of his audience, Mulder braced himself on his arms just long enough for him to be able to develop an undulation, a dance ridiculous in three dimensions rendered sublime in the two. 

Alex had no place in this nightshade narcissism. Sophistry to say the two of them were proper opposites, two sides of the same coin. Mulder's only opposite was himself, and watching his shadow move was educational in the ways of war and love, showing Mulder that it would, eventually, take more than the creeping tenderness of the hand cradling a leg left trembled in its stretch to lose him this battle between himself and his needs. 

More than the solemn lust in Alex's eyes as he moved Mulder's velveted ankle low and slow down his purpling cock and rubbed. More. Just more than this, because this wasn't enough to explain the slack-boned lassitude of his body, the sensation that all his joints had been oiled with hashish before he was left to find a way to survive in such a state. Each move was a small explosion of surrealism behind Mulder's eyelids. 

Melting clocks and tiny sharp fingers, invisible and in motion, over the edge of his hallucinated vision and Mulder could feel, just beneath the skin the march of legions. Gathering in force under his throat, his nipples, his aching cock, but also spread along a thousand other loosely connected points. Alex slid up to join him on the bed again, ran his hand up over the shirt with a small purr of pleased ownership and tweaked his nipple.

Painful, muffled slightly by the cool, gentle fabric, slicker now with his sweat. A dreamy torture, second only to the rub and slide of Alex's body along his *again*. Alex wanted, and that was obvious, but Mulder was positive there'd be no satisfaction of the desire until the other man figured out precisely which thirst he needed slaked. 

"What is this proving to you, Alex?"

Mulder felt reckless, far too free. Not for the first time he wondered why the two of them had never taken the time to lay down a few ground rules. Here, like this, here in the thick grey morning of winter, Mulder was free to ask what he liked and damn the consequences. 

"Fuck me first, if you want, but tell me what this is doing for you?" 

Alex pulled off, curled at his side, and began to stroke his body in smooth, steady motions. Down an arm, over the waist, tracing the slight curve of a hipbone, finally settling on the already-stained crotch of the pants. Mulder moaned and tried to keep hold of his thoughts, all the while bucking into Alex's hand. 

The hand... the hand gave every impression of being an entirely separate entity. Alex didn't bother to watch what he was doing, simply stared at Mulder. Mulder did the watching for both of them, fascinated by the turn and caress of knuckles, the strange sensuality of a body part out for its own pleasure as opposed to that of the body it was attached to, or even Mulder's own. 

The idea of such detached lust wasn't entirely alien to Mulder, there had certainly been more than a few occasions when his cock had proven more mercenary than himself, but hands... hands were supposed to be innocent. Mulder didn't think he'd be able to watch the other man pull his ever-present gloves off again without aching for the selfish touch.

"... tell me yourself?"

"What?"

"Why don't *you* tell me what I'm getting out of this, Mulder? C'mon, I wanna know what you think about me."

I think you're beautiful. I want you. Get out of my life. Put on the skirt again. Don't leave me yet. Let me -- "I think you want to create some distance between us."

Gentle kiss on the mouth, but Mulder wasn't quick enough to hold him there before he pulled back again.

"I don't think we're... all that close to begin with."

"We're not -- don't stop -- but this... what we have. It's not an *easy* thing--"

"Nothing's easy." 

Thumb running up and down the fly... metal pressing against him, pain seemed imminent, but there was no way not to arch up into the touch, attempt to inspire Alex with his own whore of a body. 

"Keep talking, Mulder."

"You don't... don't seem all that interested..."

"I am, oh, I am... I know you. You'll tell me something that makes sense eventually. Or are you trying to..." Shark smile and another kiss. "... protect me?"

"Protect myself."

"It's too late for that."

"No--"

And then he was free again, bobbing against his abdomen, aching. It seemed ridiculous that any clothing could possibly be darker than his blood-thick cock, but there was no room for analysis after Alex licked his own palm and began to jerk him expertly. 

"Yes. Too late to protect yourself from me, Mulder. Just talk."

I can do whatever I want, asshole. But right now I want to come in your fist. "F-fine. You did this to see if you'd be immune to me in different clothes, a different form. Here, I'm just an aging stereotype. I don't even have to be Mulder at all -- just a dissolute former pretty boy looking for a quick fuck and maybe some pill money."

"Why, Mulder... you make it sound like I care." Whispered against the underside of his cock with high good humor that sat poorly in Mulder's stomach. 

"But your trick didn't work, did it, Alex?"

It was impossible to read the other man's expression with his own cock bisecting his vision with perfectly obscene obliviousness, but the brightness was clear and clean as any knife.

"We won't know that until I come back... or don't."

And without another word Alex took him deep, no time for shame, no space for recrimination or retaliation, just Mulder's favorite prison of wet heat and suction. Getting blown by Alex was like life in a wind tunnel, buffeting and strange, no world but his cock and Alex's mouth and whatever cries Mulder could squeeze past the sudden vacuum of his throat. 

He wanted to make it last, wanted to hold back and reap some reward for the seeming stretch of years Alex had been punishing him, but the pants were no longer up around his hips and there was a cool, slick finger up his ass. Mulder was hooked by it, landed and bucking and he could hear himself begging but chose to let the sound fuzz to meaninglessness in the pound of his own pleasure.

Closer and closer and it seemed Alex really *would* just let him come, finally, but the sadistic little jerk on his balls disabused him of the notion quickly.

"Oh you sonofabitch--"

"Shut up, Mulder. You *did* say I could fuck you."

Mulder panted up at the other man, wired and hurting. Alex was expressionless again, but the man's dick put the lie to any mask he might've been trying to wear. One-handed condom application and Mulder wondered just how much practice the man had gotten at the act. Or whether he had just sat in some quiet little room with a case of Trojans and worked until the action was a reflex. 

He couldn't decide which thought was more innately disturbing. 

But Alex was still yanking at Mulder's pants and his body was far more interested in getting naked again than in letting him be still long enough to thoroughly pick apart his sex life. Finally off his ankles and Mulder planted his feet firmly on the bed, trying hard to believe that, whatever else the other man thought of him, the sight of Mulder spread and waiting for him would always be enough to bring Alex back to him. But still...

"You fucking me was dependent on you telling me what this was all about."

Finger in his ass again, unsubtle professionalism doing absolutely nothing to lessen the pleasure. "You just never quit, do you, Mulder?"

Mulder wondered how long it had taken Alex to figure out that the best way to shut him up was to use his body against him. It seemed perfectly obvious to Mulder, but then the workings of the other man's mind had always seemed complex to the point of an Escher print -- enough to make the brain hurt, yet with a simple pattern buried somewhere within. He *would* find it.

Blunt nudge and he was ready, ready for it and needful. The burn was always the same and glorious. Necessary proof for later that Alex had been there, no matter how quickly the shadows and gloom of his own life rushed to fill his absence with normality. 

"Did you ever consider that the velvet might have had no more meaning than what I told you?"

Balls flush with his ass and Mulder slid his legs up to find their own home around Alex's waist. 

"No."

Short, workmanlike thrusts. More test than pleasure in the intent but it was the start of exactly what Mulder wanted.

"I don't always lie."

And there was a hand creeping over the damned shirt, settling unerringly on a nipple and teasing ruthlessly.

"You always lie to me."

Alex didn't bother to respond to that, just slipped out far enough that when he slammed his way back in, Mulder could do nothing but gasp. Or perhaps it was a response, another punishment... it didn't matter, Alex was deep inside him, and there was no way Mulder would let him go. Mulder was determined this time; he *would* match each thrust with one of his own, giving as good as he got.

However, as always, there came a point where there was nothing he could do but stay as open to the other man's pitiless fuck as possible. Too good not to enjoy to the fullest, too good to even consider the alternative, which was now just as foolish and ill-thought as any dead fashion craze. Mulder was there for the taking, and no one took like Alex. 

Eyes closed, muscles strained and flushed, sweat rolling in solitary droplets down the hairless chest to patter on Mulder... He pulled him down to taste him, not brooking the automatic resistance, demanding Alex rest his weight on Mulder's body. He wanted to *feel* him, because, even in this, the belief the other man would always be there, always inside, was too ephemeral to hold to. 

There was no faith but that in his own eventual breathlessness when the kiss was broken, in the belief that he would come and come hard just as soon as Alex touched him there--

"God, Alex--!"

And there it was, the hand on his cock simple and rough and how he'd ever thought the *other* touches were anything but cruel teases was beyond him. This grip, this iron fastness of slide and squeeze, was all the truth he needed in these moments. In this mindless pulse of pleasure he could look up into Alex's face and see... whatever he wanted to.

Later, Mulder couldn't quite stop himself from tugging at the other man like a blanket, an encouragement that felt more --to his pride at least -- like a plea. Alex didn't hesitate to drape himself half on him, though, which eased the discomfort somewhat.

"You planning to sleep in that?"

Mulder plucked at the thoroughly ruined shirt, not bothering to open his eyes enough to get a good look. 

"Not if you plan on getting up to put the heat on..."

Easy snort, and Mulder wondered if his own laziness was doing the apologizing for him, if there needed to be an apology, if he even wanted to apologize at all--

"It really does look good on you, Mulder."

"And makes me biddable, yes." Mumbled into the pillow. 

Soft kiss on the back of his neck, arm over his waist pulling him back into warm, sticky flesh. 

"Nothing short of drugs and re-education could make you biddable."

"Mmmph. I suppose you'll just have to put up with pettable, then."

"For now." 

But the arm briefly tightened, and Mulder supposed that was good enough.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

Afternoon Weirdness XVI: Seeing the Elephant  
by Te  
1/99  
Disclaimers: If they belonged to me... well, they don't. *sigh*  
Spoilers: None.  
Ratings Note/Warnings: NC-17 for m/m interaction, disturbing imagery, wrongness, oddity...  
Summary: Err...  
Author's Note: Distracting Viridian at work is a pleasant, fruitful activity. Title is hers...  
Acknowledgments: To Viridian for coaxing me until I stopped fucking around and actually wrote this, to Spike and Kix for *all* too necessary pre-stroke, and to Ladonna for fine, wonderful beta. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XVI: Seeing the Elephant  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day, you find yourself at the circus. You pretty much know right off the bat that it's a dream, because the bespangled woman balanced perfectly on the trunk of that elephant is Scully. You can't believe she's wearing pink. 

Your seat is small, uncomfortable, seemingly designed by and for sadomasochists. The leather is ripped -- you can feel it. And the floor... the floor is sticky. Clearly, this circus has been in town for a while. You start looking around for an exit, but then you see just who's flanking you. 

To your left -- didn't it have to be? -- is Alex, getting stickier by the second with his two-toned cotton candy. 

To your right is Fox, and now that you've seen him you can hear him pointing out all the ways circus performers manage to avoid getting their costumes wedged up their asses. It's abundantly clear that you've missed the early bits of that lecture. 

Suddenly, the circus doesn't seem so bad after all -- the boys are here -- and you note that there isn't a clown in sight. There is an abrupt shift in perception, and your internal voice is rather huskier than you remembered, and the taste on your tongue is far too sweet. Alex, then, and he's always loved cotton candy. The way it disintegrates in the heat of his mouth makes him feel like a hungry sun god, devouring the clouds as he makes his way across the sky.

Slammed back into yourself, you eye Alex askance, but he shows no signs of noticing. And then you're feeling a little piqued, you hate being ignored. It takes rather a while to notice that you're looking at yourself from the right. You realize what a frightening thing a Jumping Spider truly is. 

But anyway. Fox stops talking when he realizes you've long since stopped paying attention to him, and turns to watch Alex eat. The wild lighting turns the blue stain on Alex's tongue and lower lip black for a few moments, and Fox is reminded of an animal. He's not entirely sure which, but that could just be because he's heavy, hot in his jeans. A part of you is praying that your forebrain doesn't remember you're not supposed to have a penis. 

"Want some?"

Of course it doesn't work, you're you again. Fox leans past you immediately, rudely, but you don't *really* care, because Scully isn't doing anything really interesting on that elephant trunk, though her costume is now an infinitely more tasteful forest green. You're briefly impressed with her ability to change while performing, but it doesn't hold your attention. Alex's fingers are meeting Fox's mouth right in front of your face...

Alex hears you gasp and you know -- *know* -- that even though he isn't *quite* looking at you, part of his smile is all yours. Fox, now... Fox doesn't seem to be focusing very well on anything not Alex's Fingers.

Speaking of which, they've gotten awfully close to Fox's mouth, and his tongue darts out just as one of the spots whirls brightly over your section of the stands. You watch the candy melt seemingly *before* it actually touches that sharp, pink tip. The humidity of his desire is palpable, it seems, though it may just be the crowd --whose pulse and yell you can feel in your bones.

Even if you can't precisely *hear* it over the creak of leather to your left and the heavy breathing to your right. 

Oh, wait, that breathing is further away than it was a moment ago, maddeningly so, because you're bouncing through Alex's brain again. And Alex can't take his eyes off what Fox is doing. Lovers now for several months, the other man's focus was familiar, but seeing it in public is another thing entirely. Each suck, each lap makes it seem as though they're hopelessly, wonderfully connected. Part of the same being, if for no other reason then the fact that Alex simply *cannot* imagine Fox not feeling this *alive*. 

Not when he's devouring Alex's fingers that way, an ourobouros of the flesh, disturbing from the outside, irresistible from within. 

A rev of powerful engines far below, and Alex knows the motorcycle stunts are about to begin. He hopes, briefly, that Scully falls off her bike and gets run over six or seven times, but shakes off the thought as quickly as possible. He just *knows* Fox can read such things on his face. Anyway, the lights will start going insane right... about... now.

And they do, and suddenly Fox's performance on his fingers, those soft, liquid caresses, is more than just erotic and mildly embarrassing. The speed of the lights creates a strobe effect, and it seems his lover is moving too quickly to be seen, darting here and there to suckle like some pornographer's idea of a hummingbird. The fact that Alex can *feel* just how slowly Fox is really moving just doesn't help.

Alex has never particularly *wanted* to star in his own acid trip, but he decides that if it was anything like this he could cope. 

Not that you could. You fear what would come bounding out of your subconscious at the addition of certain pharmaceuticals, and that's all it takes for you to be back on the damned ripped seat again. 

You're watching Alex's face intently, wanting to see just how all this suckling is affecting him. Creeping flush, frown of near pain... you'd have to say Fox is being pretty devastating. The question has changed from 'what will they do?' to 'what will *you* do when one or both of them decides you're an obstacle to be crawled over for the sake of the greater goal?' 

Which is, of course, the two of them, coiled naked around each other and holding on for that brand of dear life that always seems rather fatal.

You decide to be proactive about the whole thing, and slide under their still-small contact, right into the seat just below and in front of you. It's a good thing that woman with the sombrero decided to go to the ladies'. You know full well what that line will be like, and settle in happily to watch the shows. 

They're playing "Paint It Black" during the knife-throwing act, which is pretty much asking for it as far as you're concerned. Sure enough, it doesn't take long before Scully -- in top hat and tails -- starts aerating the poor fool on her wheel. The meaty thuds fit right in with that familiar, rubbery bass. The audience is chanting... something. It has a nice beat. 

You glance back to see how your erstwhile companions are taking the circus' change in tenor, and find that they've managed to push the armrests up. They've made themselves a loveseat, and if you weren't already sickened by those tastes of cotton candy you'd probably think it was sweet.

Now, though, it's annoying as hell -- *your* armrests are *nailed* down -- and you can only console yourself with the convenience of it all. They'll be getting down to business soon --

And hey, that's nearly vertiginous because there's a hand on the back of your head and you're being *shoved* down into darkness. One black-jeaned thigh is against the back of the seat, the other is a mass of tense muscle beneath your hand. There's something coiled around your gut at the scent and heat, Alex, need Alex, and he needs you so bad you can already taste it so good to be between his legs again and you're reaching into your pants because you have to get off *now*, and god, your fist on your cock has never been better --

The dissonance nearly knocks you off the chair this time, and you wrench your own hand back to the armrest. There's something so *easy* about Fox... at least when he wants this badly. You look at Alex again and blush because he's looking straight at you, but then you get a good look at his eyes. He can't see a damned thing.

Or rather, he can see the lights start to blur at the edges of his vision because he's forgotten how to breathe with that lush, greedy mouth wrapped around him like that... yeah, just like that, Fox, and Alex isn't sure if the other man can breathe like that, but he just can't let go. Fox's hair has begun to grow out again and it feels impossibly good on his palm. Fox pulls back a bit and his hips follow helplessly -- he can't *not* fuck that mouth, he's not strong enough --

You decide that you're going to kill every spider you see from now on, just on general principle. You sigh disconsolately and steal the popcorn from the kid seated next to you. When he starts to bawl you nod pointedly at the center ring. Scully has acquired two large, scarred men who are, in turn, acquiring her new volunteers for the wheel. You've never seen her look so *happy*, flushed and smiling... It gives you a warm feeling, and you sincerely hope you're able to escape *long* before Scully's muscle makes it to section 41G. 

Something hits your chair with a wet smack, and you turn to find Mulder moaning around Alex's length, Alex himself arched and gasping. It doesn't surprise you one bit that you're stuck firmly in yourself for this part, but hey, the popcorn is good, the butter is real, and you've always liked the way Alex --

"Christ, yes, Fox--!"

\-- screamed when he came, so rough and hoarse, so raw. 

You're treated to some nuzzling and whispers, and it's good to be around for this. Alex's mouth on your own is always tender at these moments, and you've always liked tasting yourself -- whether you could admit it or not --and it's the best kind of confusion while it lasts.

Which, unfortunately, is never very long. The boys fade a little more with each whisper, and soon you're squinting at a perfectly empty sofa, which morphs itself back into stands, and grows spectators. The woman with the sombrero is back. Glaring. You turn to the rings, and there's nothing more entertaining than dancing dogs and bears. 

Even the dark stain where the wheel used to be is shrinking onto itself. You sigh, hand the smirking brat next to you the empty popcorn carton, stand and stretch.

It's time to go back home.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

Afternoon Weirdness XVII: Vase  
by Te  
2/99  
Disclaimers: Not mine.  
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Summary: An interlude.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for language, m/m interaction, and Alex's two arms. Shuddup, you.  
Author's Note: Viridian sent me the poem at the end of this, thus playing an active role in her own distraction.  
Acknowledgments: To Rae for fine audiencing, and to Pretty Pretty Pares for astoundingly quick and fine beta.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XVII: Vase  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
   
The little apartment is practically on top of the El. The place is dirty and bleak, but shows signs of having been lived in and cared for sometime before Alex acquired it. 

He is naked, chilled a little because the furnace in this building is not the best. The kitchen, however, is the warmest part of the apartment. Mulder is behind him, and Alex believes he knows just how the late morning winter sunlight, even strained through the small pane of dusty glass, is painting the other man's hair.

There is a glass vase on the windowsill that Alex hadn't been able to stop himself from cleaning one night. After the snow melted behind the building, he'd picked up a handful of the leaves that had somehow managed to dry themselves and dropped them in. 

When the trains rattled the vase, like now, the leaves made a skittering sound like a carefully creeping monster, guaranteed to be strange if he could only see it. 

Mulder is naked as well, and the slick fingers in Alex's ass are wonderful. Alex braces himself against the sink and thinks, 

'Anything, anything you want, it's all right, it's my fault, please don't stop.'

Except that some or all of that may have been said aloud, because suddenly Mulder twists the two strong fingers inside him, making his raise up on tiptoe, making him sweat, making him cry out for more...

"If I let you feel guilty for both of us, I'll just wind up feeling guiltier..." It's whispered against the side of his throat and Alex arches back to give that ruefully smiling mouth easier access.

Mulder responds with a groan, and Alex knows he's stealing fault again, and it'll be harder next time on both of them. He can't stop to make it better, he doesn't know how...

"Why do you want me like this?" 

And Mulder sounds almost plaintive, but he never stops scissoring the fingers inside of him. Alex doesn't understand, they're using lube, the bruises will be small and few... "Mulder, please..."

He knows that voice will be enough.

When Mulder sinks his teeth in, hard, Alex's cock tries to climb his belly because this is *right*. This is just right and he doesn't understand why the vase isn't still trembling on the edge of a fall.

Mulder is fucking him with his fingers now, rough and fast, brushing his prostate with no real rhythm or design or care... Alex is going to come from just this, or maybe he needs to move a hand down to his cock --

The hand bracing his hip is suddenly pinning his wrist to the sink-edge. 

"No... you want me *this* way."

And Alex moans his agreement, pushes back on those apparently tireless fingers faster. The air is cool against his belly, which he's been painting with his leaking cock. He feels sticky and trapped, a dying insect in the thrall of something so *bright* --

He sobs hoarsely when the fingers are removed, wishing the window was closer so he could rest his brow against cool glass for the eternity Mulder would make him wait.

The blunt nudge against his entrance comes after much too long but it's still a small shock. He thinks 'I'm getting what I want, I'd forgotten what --'

But then Mulder shoves the head past the restriction in one painful thrust and he cries out again, tenses for a long moment. Mulder's fingers tighten on his wrist, too, as if he thought Alex would try to escape him.

He forces himself to relax again, warming immeasurably at the feel of Mulder relaxing just slightly out of time with him. Or maybe just at the teasing blaze licking out across his nerve endings.

He imagines how the coming thrusts will feel and begins to moan again. Mulder pauses again, one hand on his hip, the other on his arm and tenses but Alex says,

"*More*."

And then he's fucking his way inside. Short, sharp thrusts that threaten to break Alex into pieces, a steady battering that wilts his cock a little even as it makes him need.

When Mulder is in, huge and real and *his*, he pulls Alex closer to him. Alex can feel a series of full-body shudders rack the other man and struggles not to bear down at all. He doesn't want Mulder to come yet. 

Lips against his ear, dragging wet and warm across his cheek and down. Open-mouthed and then the sweat is being licked from the hollow of shoulder and neck and Alex is getting hard again.

He lets his head fall back, he feels boneless, tethered to reality only by the hand still pressed to the sink. Alex's other hand is stretched back to hold the other man in him tight. 'Stay right there, let me come just by feeling you...'

But Mulder starts to move, shallow thrusts that are still more stretch than fuck. The heat washes over Alex again and he sweats a little more. He can smell himself and Mulder. An old, obvious scent that just makes him hotter.

A little more now, and Alex's upper body is pulled back into arches with each thrust because he still has his hand on Mulder's hips. It's a subtle re-shaping. Mulder is an artist, making his body more than itself, less a person than an expression of pleasure in stretched, struggling muscles. 

Alex needs this so badly and he can't let Mulder control the pace anymore, beginning to move first in time with Mulder, then harder and faster. Mulder lets out a strangled groan and frees his wrist at last, moving both hands to his hips, knocking Alex's away from his own hip. 

He braces himself on the sink again, trying to be loose and useable as possible. Mulder slips out almost all the way before slamming back, forcing the air from Alex's body and he can feel his ghost try to fly past his teeth and he bites down hard and keeps it, waiting for the next thrust. 

And the next makes his teeth rattle, and the next makes him nearly howl, clipped off with the grind of Mulder's pelvis flush with his ass. 

"You want this, you *want* this --"

And Alex would say yes but he can't speak at all, can barely hold himself steady because his knees wants to buckle, *he* wants to buckle under the assault and the only thing stopping him is the fear Mulder might stop...

The hands at his hips grip tighter still and then Mulder finds a new rhythm, slow enough to retain the impossible intensity of each thrust, fast enough to make Alex fear he wouldn't be able to hold on to anything at all. 

"Show me, damn it..."

Gritted out and Alex felt Mulder's eyes pierce through the back of his now-burning nape and then he wasn't still anymore, rolling his hips with the wonderful punishment. Letting his soul spill through his lips in scores of helpless sobbing cries. Alex's face was wet with sweat and tears and he thought that was blood running down his chin and Mulder--

Mulder bucked suddenly and thickened inside Alex for an impossible heartbeat before coming with a yell Alex wished was buried in his throat.

Hot weight on his back and he was so hard it hurt but it only lasted for a moment because Mulder spun him around and fell to his knees with an audible, certainly painful thump. Grabbed his wrists again and forced them back hard against the lower cupboards and took his dark, throbbing cock deep in his throat with a muffled, harsh groan. 

And then fucked his own face ruthlessly on it until Alex couldn't hold back anymore and did it for him. Another groan and it seemed to last forever, stretching out, stretching his cock out over wetly hot vibration forever, and Alex threw his head back threw his hips forward felt Mulder's nose in his curls and shot. 

When Alex could see again Mulder was still on his knees, head bent, forehead pressed in the hollow of his hipbone. His face was wet.

Alex knelt himself, pushing Mulder forward a little. Wrapped his arms around the other man and held on through the world-shaking of another train.

He didn't have to worry about next time yet.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

Having used every subterfuge  
To shake you, lies, fatigue, or even that of passion,  
Now I see no way but a clean break  
I add that I am willing to bear the guilt

You nod assent. Autumn turns windy, huge,  
A clear vase of dry leaves vibrating on and on.  
We sit, watching. When I next speak  
Love buries itself in me, up to the hilt.  
\- "A Renewal" by James Merrill

 

* * *

 

Afternoon Weirdness XVIII: So Tired  
by Te  
2/99  
Disclaimers: No one here is mine, dammit.  
Spoilers: Vague references to S.R. 819, Two Fathers/One Son. Sort of.   
Summary: Yet another sign of the Decline and Fall of Slash Fan Fiction.  
Ratings Note: PG-13.  
Author's Notes: Myyyyyy Rae... is a veryveryvery fine Rae...

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Afternoon Weirdness XVIII: So Tired  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the complicated, vaguely disturbing black leather harness arrived, Alex began to worry.

It hadn't been the first gift. 

Sure, he'd received gifts like those before, and it certainly wasn't odd that they be anonymous -- few movies had the Romantic Lead providing the Love Interest with clutches of beautifully arranged surgical gloves -- but...

This wasn't just a crashpad, it was his *work* address.

Not that there were sniggering co-workers to be concerned about, but *still*....

There were only a few people who should have known he was here, and Jeff was the only cute one. Conveniently living with him after the nasty mess with his father, too.... But Jeff was also the only one who *hadn't* eyed him like a heart patient eyes a thick, juicy steak.

He hated hetboys. 

But that left several people he never, ever wanted to see naked. Again. Or to see him in the harness dangling from his hand, or any other harnesses for that matter.

It made him wonder about all the times Papa Spender called him Alex. It made his balls want to crawl back into his body. He was positive they were *trying* to do so. 

The only consolation was that the old men *he* knew would just order him to bend and spread, so maybe there were just a few more rebel alien moles. 

He stuffed the harness into the bottom drawer of his desk and headed down to the parking garage. Another day behind the wheel followed, most of it consisting of Alex not thinking about his secret admirer, and wishing that better engineers would get involved in the limo-building process.

The next day arrived with yet another box from the tasteful leather shop downtown. He swallowed hard. 

It *had* to be more rebel alien moles. Rebel alien moles that wanted his ass.

Highlighted nicely with buttless chaps. 

The rest of *that* day was spent in assorted beatings, and Alex found himself looking at how the eyes of his victims swelled shut. The forcibly blind look just didn't do it for him, though, and that evening was spent in intensive ice pick practice. 

Nothing came the next day, which was good because the weekly meeting was held in his office. He was on tenterhooks the whole time, though. It was far, far too easy to see the hard, curious looks from all the old men.

All except for the one who would be eyeing him hopefully from across the room. Maybe smiling at him. With bad, grey teeth. 

He came *that* close to snapping his little pointer in half and threatening to run anyone who so much as *looked* at him too long through.

And then came the hotpants with the insulated codpiece for storing chocolate. Well, it only said 'candy,' but *Alex* knew what they meant.

And the studded collar with monogrammed pendant.

And the dildo carved into a -- mercifully mostly flattened -- caricature of Nixon. 

The smoker, who had yet to notice that his *arm* had grown back, commented on his jitters. Asked if he needed a vacation. Put his hand on Alex's shoulder.

Alex shot him in the head, six or seven times, Jeff walking in on the fourth shot. Fortunately, Jeff was still feeling a little bitter about that attempted murder thing, though, and helped him dump the body. 

Which was really nice, when you thought about it. 

Later, while Alex was concocting plausible reasons for the smoker not to exist anymore, he asked Jeff a few leading questions about latex. The other man just scooted a little further away, though, so Alex was stuck hoping he'd shot the right guy.

The arrivals of the suede flogger, home piercing kit, brightly colored lube assortment, and volume of Walt Whitman poetry suggested he hadn't. 

Alex started killing everyone who got within three feet of him. The lack of consequences made him wonder why he hadn't tried this before, but some of the joy was lost with the continued deluge of presents.

The Maybelline travel kit was especially painful, as were the size 13 fuck-me pumps. In purple. He really, really hated purple. 

And he was out of space in his desk, and storing them in the back of Jeff's little closet just earned him more looks and the other man stopped coming home at night which was depressing because killing all your business associates is a lonely-making thing. 

On the day the erotically streamlined defibrillator (with heart-shaped paddles) arrived, Alex sat down and cried, right in the doorway. He couldn't even wait until after he'd terrorized the delivery boy some more.

Alex was very, very tired.

When he heard the footsteps coming down the hall, he couldn't lift his head, and barely managed to get his gun up. He fetched a heavy sigh, and waited. 

And was terribly disappointed to have only a bouquet of roses -- thorns clearly visible -- shoved under his nose. 

"Just put it with the cock ring sampler, please."

"Are you sure you don't want me to put them in this vase?" 

And then there was a penis-shaped porcelain vase in his face. With veins. But Alex knew that voice...

He looked up slowly to find Mulder staring down at him with a criminally cheerful grin. 

Dammit. 

He really, really should have known. 

"Hi, Alex!"

"I just have one question, Mulder."

"Yes?"

"How did you get this address?" 

"Oh, I've been stalking you for months. And then you were running around in that long, brown wig... Well, it just gave me ideas."

"You've been stalking me."

"Yes. And I like the wig. Do you still have the wig?"

"If you were stalking me, then you know..."

"That you're a lying, sadistic, arrogant prick who's living with a guy I really, really *hate*?"

"Well... yeah."

Mulder nodded. "I've known that for a *long* time. But something about that wig... and all that sexual *tension* in the way you look at me when I'm beating on you --"

"You mean like this?" Alex put on his best smolder. 

Mulder licked his lips and squeezed the penis so hard it shattered in his hand. Alex winced. 

"Yeah... yeah, that's it right there."

"Uh, huh. You know, that look was supposed to encourage you to *stop* beating on me."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Sex now?"

Alex looked deep into Mulder's eyes, reveling in the lust-glazed greed. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could get the other man to say something reassuring, like that he *really* wanted him because Alex had just taken out the entire Consortium. For now, though... 

"Well, OK.... But no chaps."

"Damn. I had those tailored --"

Alex started humming to himself, stopped thinking, and closed the door behind them.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 


End file.
